


Between the Lines

by riya



Series: Hidden Places [2]
Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Battle Scenes, Daily life in SEES, Humor, M/M, POV: Minato, Pushy Senpais, Sexual Frustration, personal drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riya/pseuds/riya
Summary: Minato deals with fears, consequences, and unrelenting horniness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! If you haven't read _Backstage_ yet, start there. The stories in this universe are not standalone. 
> 
> This is part 2 of 6 that will appear in the series. It's rather gotten away from me, already topping the length of the previous one...so tuck yourself in for a ride.

Minato found himself lying on his back, arms flung casually above his head. He could feel the worn wood of the old desk under his knuckles and under his elbows. 

His eyes were open but unfocused, blue pools gazing upward at nothing.

Except, no. He wasn't looking through his eyes, he was looking at them — gazing downward at his own face staring into the distance. His mind slid sideways for a moment, trying to deal with the perspective shift, blinking to chase the dissonance away. 

The eyelids of the other Minato fluttered and drifted closed, but that didn't cut off his own ability to see. Minato seized the unusual opportunity and studied himself with curiosity. He looked at peace.

Without warning, his view began to pull up, panning out and spinning slowly like a movie shot. He watched his chest rise and fall hypnotically. His limbs came into view, the fingers of one hand curling gently inward. He saw the back of a head, covered in silver-gray fuzz. He saw a red sweater blocking the view of the lower half of his body. 

The artistic spiraling abruptly stopped, the moment he realized he'd been reading the tone wrong.

The face below contorted in a gasp. The silver head lifted, and swirled, and descended again. Hands pinned a pair of squirming hips onto the desk. 

The real Minato sat bolt upright in his own bed. 

His head jerked spastically, in different directions around the room, until consciousness dawned and he realized where he was. A moment later he collapsed in an abject puddle on the pillow, arms covering his face to muffle the whine of frustration.

It was the fourth time this week he'd woken up like this.

And the sixth day since Akihiko had spoken to him.

Not a single word exchanged between them since the hallway outside the auditorium... Barring two businesslike trips to Tartarus, where Minato had left him sitting in the lobby anyway. The six days would be fantastic news — if it wasn't for the four mornings, and the steady mental degradation on Minato's side of the equation. 

He was managing to avoid it during his waking hours, to ignore or even forget that last Saturday had ever happened. But each night he lost ground to his subconscious, unable to control what went on inside his mind, the progressively higher stakes in his own mental game of chicken. 

The week had started out well... On Sunday he'd woken up dream-free — if thoroughly apprehensive over what the day would bring. But things had been, weirdly, _normal_. Akihiko had spent much of the day mending his gloves in the dining room, and Minato had paraded past several times, without looking over once. It was an accomplishment on both their parts, to have avoided each other so effectively for the duration of holiday week, while living across the hall from one another.

Because, to Akihiko's credit, he was sincerely leaving Minato alone. ...But all Minato could do was have ridiculous dreams about him.

Increasingly explicit _romantic_ dreams about him. 

To be fair, this one was only absurd in its level of self-sabotage, but some of the others _had_ been truly ridiculous. On Monday he'd dreamed they were caretakers at a mansion, flirting over potting soil in the gardening shed, and yesterday they'd been attending a wedding that was attacked by giant squid. Somehow this had led to heavy makeouts in a back room at the banquet facility, despite that they were hiding out with a group of other guests. (The embarrassing part was that he still felt no shame over that choice — the squid were coming, Akihiko looked damn good in a suit, seize the moment.)

None of the other dreams had felt so _real_ , though. If he closed his eyes, he could drift into it again, his limbs becoming weightless as he floated up over the desk. He watched the other him grimace and thrash. When his attempted thrusts were aborted by Akihiko's strong grip, the motion diverted upward, his head arcing back, exposing his throat. He collapsed panting a moment later, unable to sustain the angle. A shaky hand reached forward, fingers curling behind Akihiko's ear, trembling with the effort to hold still rather than clench and scratch at it, trembling driven violently worse as Akihiko's cheeks hollowed–

Minato shook himself roughly. Turning his wet dream into a daydream was exactly the last thing he needed. School had started up again, what if this started happening when he dozed off in class?? He couldn't control what he dreamed about at night, but he _could_ stop once he woke up. Akihiko had apparently figured out how to move on — Minato had to find a way to do the same, or he'd be waking up unfulfilled forever.

He glared at his erection jutting up through the blankets. Wandering back into magical blowjob dreamland had certainly done nothing to discourage it. He'd have to take care of it; he couldn't walk to the showers like this.

He sighed and took himself in hand, casting his mind for something to focus on, trying to settle quickly before his traitorous brain gave him any images of smirking grins or flashing gray eyes.

~o~o~o~o~o~

The next morning was worse. So much worse.

He didn't wake up panicked this time, but he did wake up _disappointed_. Yearning for something he couldn't even name, a sense of loss, of denial, keen in his stomach.

He couldn't recall the details of this dream, not who or where he was. Just some indistinct visuals, vague swaths of color, little more than light and dark — but there was this pervading sense of urgency. Something vitally important he'd been trying to achieve, time pressing down on them, forced into decisions and painful sacrifices without a moment to clear his mind... 

It all bled together in a jumble of stress and confusion. He grumbled at the tension tripping up his spine, and shoved his face deeper into the pillow. It was _Saturday_ , it was supposed to be a good day. This was not the start to a good day. 

He let the sleepiness pull him back under — maybe with five extra minutes he'd have a different, less emotional dream, and get a do-over on waking up.

He awoke some time later, face-down on the sheets and incredibly groggy. He lifted his head slowly, squinting against the light, rubbing at his squashed nose and the crease mark on his forehead. He tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes and figure out how he'd ended up in that position. He'd had another dream, yes...in fact was still struggling to escape from it, though he couldn't recall any of it yet. 

He raised his torso, leaning onto his elbows, hoping the change in position would make him a little more alert. What it _did_ do was push his hips into the mattress and point out exactly how hard he was. 

Minato groaned as his hips rolled uncontrollably. In that moment, he knew what had woken him up. As he ground his pelvis downward, body picking up right where it had left off, flickers of mental images started returning to him.

It seemed perfectly normal at first — walking with Akihiko through Iwatodai, he wasn't sure how that had turned sexual...oh. One moment they were standing together, waiting to cross the street — and the next he was kneeling on the curb, thumbs spanning Akihiko's hipbones, nuzzling his crotch with something akin to worship. Flash forward and they were in a convenience store, browsing the snack foods — then Akihiko had him pushed up against the end cap, breath hot on his ear, arm brazenly disappearing down the front of Minato's pants. Blink, and they were in the library, working quietly at neighboring desks — when suddenly Minato was in Akihiko's seat, straddling his lap and rubbing shamelessly against him; blink again and Minato wasn't wearing pants, and Akihiko was groping his ass. 

In real life, Minato's cock throbbed. The dream logic was giving him whiplash, jumping from location to location without any transitions, but his subconscious _certainly_ knew how to have a good time. It seemed that was the end of the dream, though; he wasn't remembering anything else. His head fell forward onto his forearms — god, that had been plenty, enough to keep him hard from here to eternity.

His hips had settled into a holding pattern, minutely humping, a slow pulse thrusting into the padding of the bed while they waited for him to decide what happened next.

His face felt hot and his limbs heavy. His plan to get a restart on the day hadn't quite worked out. The process of getting out of bed had felt insurmountable _before_ , and it would only be worse once he jacked off. If only it wasn't a school day...

Wait, it was a school day — and he'd gone back to sleep without an alarm. He dug through the covers looking for his phone, hands clumsy and useless. Normally it was tucked under the edge of the pillow, but since his pillow was currently leaning against the wall, it seemed he'd been thrashing about some.

He flung his shoulders over the side of the bed. The edge of the mattress cut painfully into his hip and his erection, but he managed to locate the phone. He flopped back onto the bed, landing on his back and flipping the phone open. 

The air in his lungs came whooshing out all at once. He'd lost 30 minutes. He now had a raging hard on and less than an hour to get to class. 

He weighed his choices quickly. Simply leaving wasn't an option — his stupid, fertile imagination and its stupid, erotic dreams had ensured this problem wasn't going down on its own. He could get it over with, try to come as quickly as possible (and block out the things he'd think about in order to make that happen). Skip the shower and he could be dressed in no time. But the idea of climbing into his uniform while clammy with sweat was distinctly unpleasant. 

No, showering was the best choice. It let him get off and get clean at the same time, he just had to be quick about it. 

He kicked gracelessly loose of the covers and tumbled to his feet, flinging his pajamas off in random directions. He spared a glance in the mirror while tying on his robe. Yep, he looked as disordered and horny as he felt. At least everyone else should have left already, so there wasn't anyone to see him like this. Still, just in case, he took a moment to strategically drape his towel over his arm and down the front of his body, before dashing out the door of his room. 

He jogged down the hall and started up the stairs, cursing the dorm for being so spacious. As he rounded through the girl's floor lounge, he heard one of the faucets shut off on the floor above him. That was unexpected, someone else still in the building. It was probably Junpei, he ran the latest schedule of all the residents. Which would be a blessing, frankly — in the mornings you could drop a house on that boy and he'd barely notice, so Minato was safe from scrutiny. Plus, he'd have a partner for the frantic run to school. Heck, maybe they'd even come up with a plausible tardiness excuse while on the train. 

The door creaked open as he crested the top of the stairs. Minato was prepared to share a rueful grin with his friend, and shove past him into the bathroom. 

He was not prepared to see the startled face of his senpai. 

Minato came to a sudden stop, clutching his towel with a squawk of surprise. 

Akihiko's hair was wet, sticking up in tiny spiky clusters all over his head. His robe was neatly tied, unlike Minato's, his towel thrown over one shoulder. As Minato stared at him, a bead of water formed at his hairline, growing in mass before accelerating down the side of his face. Minato's eyes tracked its slicing path downward until it disappeared into his neck.

With the rush of adrenaline, he'd almost managed to forget his dream and the state it had left him in, but seeing Akihiko like this was a shock — an unavoidable, intensely physical reminder of the body he'd spent all week trying to forget.

Akihiko took a step forward, letting the door close behind him. He raised an eyebrow at Minato.

The question popped out of Minato's mouth before he could remember his vow of avoidance. "What are you doing here?!" 

"I'm going to the Kirijo laboratory with the chairman this morning. They want me to, test something, I don't know." He gave a dismissive shrug, and then squinted at Minato. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Minato gaped, as a litany of thoroughly inappropriate responses scrolled through his mind. "I'm...running really late!" he pronounced instead, slipping around Akihiko and spinning to push the door open with his ass. "Gotta go!" he exclaimed, stepping backwards and letting the wood panels close off his view of the landing and the dripping third-year. 

He kept right on walking backwards, a pained expression on his face. _That_ was the worst coincidence he'd ever experienced. Normally Akihiko would have left the building an hour ago! He backed into a shower stall and pressed the door shut, dropping his forehead onto the smooth surface.

And recoiling a second later. It was warm, and damp to the touch. 

_He'd chosen the same shower Akihiko had just used._

He swallowed a whimper of distress and started untying his robe. Finishing quickly was the goal here, right? He was already sunk, so if this was where he found himself, might as well go with it. 

As he stepped onto the tiles, humidity draped over him like a cloak, the heady scent of men's body wash filling the air. He adjusted the shower head lower in an attempt to keep his hair dry and slid into the spray. The water was already hot, of course. He soaped his hands and skimmed them over his body, vaguely pretending to wash other parts en route to their inevitable destination.

As the steam began to curl around him, he tilted his head back and gave himself over to picturing the boy who had stood there moments before.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Minato hustle-stumbled down the awkwardly wide stairs, his cheeks aglow. His robe was even more askew than it had been on the way up, but he no longer cared what he looked like — he'd had possibly the best orgasm of his life and nothing was going to knock him down right then. At that point, it felt like he could levitate to school, and skip the train entirely.

He glanced at the time as he entered his room. Right, endorphins or not, he was still on the clock. He tossed his robe in the direction of his desk, trying not to trip over his pajama pants while heading to the wardrobe. He wasn't used to leaving his room such a mess, but this was apparently the week for unusual circumstances.

Grabbing socks and some underwear (tight, as a precaution), he staggered back towards the bed. As he sat pulling them on, it slowly occurred to him that something was wrong. The bed was neatly made, with military precision in fact. Minato had left the blankets in a crumpled stack, so how... 

He looked warily to his left. There, stark against the bedspread, sat a folded sheet of notebook paper. His name was written on the front in a tilted, angular script. 

He cast a suspicious glance around the room, but it appeared to be empty, and he didn't have time to waste. He picked up the letter and unfolded it as he crossed back to the wardrobe.

This time he _did_ trip on the pajama pants, as his feet lagged in shock, sending him crashing into the closet door.

He clung onto the door with one hand as he reread the contents:
    
    
         _Hope you had fun taking care of yourself.  (Don’t think I didn’t notice the state you were in.)_

The note wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be.

He supposed it wasn't surprising that Akihiko had noticed — Minato knew he'd looked a mess — but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. He'd really thought he'd gotten away with it. It had been such a short conversation there on the landing! 

He set the note on his shelves and pulled his uniform on quickly and mechanically, shoving buttons through holes and stuffing in the tails of his shirt. 

When he stepped in front of the mirror to run a comb through his hair, the flush was already high on his cheeks — and it wasn't the post-orgasmic glow from before. 

Akihiko KNEW. All week Minato thought he'd been dealing with his attraction in secret, and _he'd probably known all along_.

Minato flung his comb down and looked over at the note. There was nothing to be done about it now — he was down to 30 minutes and counting. Still, he took the time to walk over and grab the paper, shoving it into his desk drawer so it would stop staring at him. 

That just left shoes, then bag, and he could finally head out the door. He was going to be late, but not by much — which was pretty impressive after all the Akihiko-related pitfalls he'd encountered. 

But, he was doomed from the moment he looked down at his shoes, where a neatly scrolled piece of notebook paper stood upright inside his left boot.

His stomach turned over. He slowly bent down and curled the page open.
    
    
         _Because_ I _definitely enjoyed your shower._  
    
      
    
    
    
    
         _Lying on your bed._  
    
    _Imagining what you were doing at that very moment._  
    
    _...Doing the same thing myself._

Which was how, despite his many preventative measures, Minato still left the dorm that morning with a violent erection.

~o~o~o~o~o~

By midway through the school day, Minato had descended into shock. 

His mind had become a vast, empty echo chamber. In trying to block out panicked thoughts about that morning and what it meant and what Akihiko might be thinking about now and how spectacularly his self-control had failed and _seriously this could not happen again how exactly was he going to convey that to Akihiko_...he'd sort of lost everything else, too. Mr. Ono was particularly excitable that morning, but Minato was struggling to take in a single word. 

As class ended, Junpei flopped sideways in his chair with a loud groan.

"I can't _believe_ that," he whined. 

"What?" Minato asked vaguely. He glanced down at the blank page in front of him and realized he hadn't managed to take a single note. He flipped his notebook shut to hide the evidence.

"He can't just...skip a lecture and shaft us with the work!" bemoaned Junpei.

Minato blinked. He might have been distracted, but he was pretty sure Mr. Ono had been lecturing all morning. With extra-enthusiastic hand waving, at that. What had he missed?

"Except, he just did." The glum voice came from behind them.

Kenji was wearing a commiserating frown. 

"I know, right?" Junpei perked up upon finding a more sympathetic audience. "That was what, _three minutes_ on the Kenmu Restoration, before he caved and skipped forward to the Sengoku era??" As he complained, his head bobbled back and forth at a strange upside-down angle. 

"He barely tried at _all_ ," asserted Kenji. 

"And now we have to write three pages on it!?"

"In two days!"

"All because he can't control himself!" Junpei huffed in irritation and slithered upright again. "Doesn't he _realize_ it's _Saturday_?" he mourned quietly. 

"Of course he does," Kenji replied tartly. "On Saturdays he has _extra_ time to sit around and have weird fantasies about becoming a samurai."

Junpei looked stricken. "Do NOT mention Mr. Ono and 'fantasy' in the same sentence ever again." 

"Oh, so you _don't_ wanna hear about the ceremonial polishing of the katana?" Kenji managed to sound half sincere but was barely suppressing a chortle. 

Junpei shrank in on himself, and Kenji broke into outright laughter. A tremor passed up the entire length of Junpei's body, culminating in a shuddering pursed grimace. " _Euugh,_ " he spluttered, "don't SAY things like that!" 

He slapped both hands on the desk and inhaled deeply. As he gained control of himself once more, his head flipped towards Minato with exasperation. "Dude, how are you unaffected by this stuff?!"

Kenji dropped a hand onto Junpei's shoulder. "Come on, Iori, you're practically the easiest mark in this class. But Minato? He's a _legend_."

They both turned to him, Kenji smiling in admiration, Junpei still looking mildly put out.

Minato didn't have the heart (or the idiocy) to give Junpei the truth — that he was far too busy picturing _Akihiko's_ katana to get grossed out over Mr. Ono's. The innuendos had cracked his mental vault open again, and the images were pouring out unbidden... 

Akihiko standing in front of him, stroking himself through his pants and smirking pointedly at Minato. Akihiko pressing against him from behind, warm torso lining his back, 'katana' settled blazing hot between his ass cheeks. 

Minato could feel, not just see it, phantom sensations sweeping across his body. But holy shit, now was not the time for this. He cracked his eyes open, and yep, the others were looking at him funny. 

He yanked on a placid expression — if they figured out he was turned on right now, they'd jump to horrible conclusions, and his life would become a living nightmare — well, _more_ of a living nightmare. 

What was the topic again? Right, his immunity to teacher sex imagery. The center of his being leapt enthusiastically at the word 'sex', throwing up an image of Akihiko lounging on a bed, limbs flung akimbo and tongue sliding lazily across his lips, hands drifting towards the button on his fly. 

He forced himself to think about Mr. Ono instead...but yeah, it wasn't a bucket of cold water to him like it was for Junpei. (Not that he wouldn't have welcomed the bucket effect, today.)

"I dunno," he said aloud, shrugging. "He's just a dude, it doesn't creep me out."

"See?" Kenji nudged Junpei in the neck with his elbow, grinning. 

"But yeah," Minato continued, musing, "if he won't take the helmet off _in class_ , what ELSE has that thing seen...?"

"No, no, no!" cried Junpei, plastering hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. "Stop right there!" 

Kenji clapped a hand onto his thigh, looking immensely pleased. He beamed at Minato. "You always come through for me, man."

Junpei was rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. Kenji poked him in the back. "He stopped, you can come out now."

Junpei raised his head, cautiously looking around. His shoulders relaxed when he realized Minato was indeed silent.

Kenji chuckled. "Wanna cleanse our brains with lunch at Wild Duck?" Junpei shot him a suspicious look. Kenji raised his hands in innocence. "It's not a setup, I'm _hungry_! Look, I'll buy you fries to make up for it."

Junpei was easily convinced. "Sounds good to me!" he proclaimed, stacking his papers in messy fashion and shoving them carelessly over the edge of the desk into his bag.

He looked in Minato's direction again. "You in, man?"

"What?" Minato muttered distractedly, a faint flush lining his cheeks. He'd gotten sucked into a vivid memory of, well, _sucking_ , and lost the thread of the conversation.

"Wild Duck," repeated Kenji, rolling his eyes. "Are you in?" 

"Oh, sorry, can't today," the answer came automatically out of Minato's mouth. "Already have plans." Bit of a lie, as he hadn't decided yet, but the social links waited for no man. He'd already maxed Magician, after all, and Saturday was too important a day to waste on unaffiliated socializing.

Kenji shrugged loosely. No one was surprised by Minato's over-packed schedule anymore.

"Your loss on the free fries!" exclaimed Junpei, popping out of his seat. 

"So, wait," said Minato, before the two of them could get out of range. "That was a, three page essay on the...Kenmu Restoration, yeah? For Monday?" 

Junpei spun about mid-stride and stared at him, mouth open. "Wait, _I_ was paying more attention than you?? Dude, this has never happened before!" He capered in a small joyful circle. 

Kenji gave the side eye to Junpei's exuberant flailing and slid back towards Minato. "Are you _sure_ you're alright?" he asked quietly.

"Of course!" enthused Minato. But maybe it was a bit too forced, because now Kenji was giving _him_ the side eye. His brain scrabbled for a cover story, something that would justify his spacy behavior. "I'm...just..." 

His head tilted down at the desk, then popped up a second later. "Just a bit, distracted, you know?" He flung his hair out of his face and gestured Kenji closer. "I'm spending the afternoon with Yuko today, you know how it is..."

"Oh, yeah, totally." Kenji nodded along in agreement. "But wait, didn't I see you a couple days ago, with–" He cut himself off. "And last week, you were–!" Kenji's eyes widened as the scandal unfolded in his imagination. "Dude, you are such a player!" he whispered enviously. 

Minato blinked at him. That had escalated itself quickly. "Well, help a guy out and keep a lid on it, okay?"

"Sure, absolutely." Kenji's nod was solemn, tinged with a bit of awe. 

Junpei finally wrapped up his celebratory dance and swerved forward to sling an arm over Kenji's shoulders, crashing their impromptu huddle.

" _Dudes_ , WHY are we still in this _building_? It is Saturday and the french fries are calling my name!"

He stood up again, pointing insistently with his entire arm. 

"Kenji!" he commanded. "Deliver me to the Wild Duck!

"And Minato!" He spun around with arm outstretched, finger landing dangerously close to Minato's nose. Minato raised an eyebrow without flinching.

"Go do something fun! Or something boring and responsible, whatever the heck it is you do all day! But don't do it here!"

Kenji straightened up with a small smirk. "Yeah, _something_ ," he muttered suggestively. He tilted his chin in Junpei's direction. "C'mon, let's go before my stomach eats itself." 

"That's what I'm sayin'!"

The two exited the near-empty classroom, Junpei saluting cheerfully and Kenji with a knowing wink. 

Minato watched them go, his face falling the moment they turned the corner. He felt bad using Yuko like that...there was nothing going on between them, but implying so was the easiest way to divert Kenji. At least the rest of it was true — they _were_ friends, and today was a good day to hang out with her. 

He gazed down at the surface of his desk, still seeing the residual effect of the blank notebook page he'd stared at for the past four hours. Now, what was the easiest way to divert _himself_? Fooling Junpei and Kenji was easy, compared to tricking his own damn brain into shutting up about Akihiko. And Akihiko's clever, agile fingers, and Akihiko's sleek black pants, and the things _inside_ Akihiko's sleek black pants, and... 

Minato shoved abruptly to his feet and stomped out of the classroom. She didn't know it yet, but Yuko was waiting for him, and he intended to salvage _something_ of value out of this god-forsaken day. 

~o~o~o~o~o~

Yuko was happy that afternoon. It was nice spending time with her...except his face ached whenever he tried to echo her smile. It was like his lips knew it was fake, and refused to support the lie.

He sat back and let her chatter away, interjecting only when necessary. Despite his best intentions, despite the pleasant sunny day and her entertaining stories, his mind kept detaching from the situation and spiraling off into a black hole. 

He either wanted the date to go on forever, so he could avoid _ever going home again_ , or he wanted her to go away and leave him to brood.

He glanced up, watching her eyes sparkle as she laughed, halfway through a story about her cousins visiting Paulownia Mall last week. His melancholy surged. Yuko was a pretty girl, and considerate and forthright and so much less complicated than a certain _other_ athlete in his life. From the depths of self-pity, Minato despairingly wondered why he couldn't be attracted to someone like her. 

If only what he'd insinuated to Kenji was true, if only he _was_ playing half-a-dozen girls...however challenging that would be, it'd still be less painful than what he was facing now. 

His dour mood got worse as the afternoon rolled on. He seemed to be hiding it from Yuko at least — when they said goodbye at Iwatodai station, she gave him a sunny wave and marched cheerfully off towards home. Free of her brightening influence, his mind plunged straight into the darkness, swirling back around to the distressing heart of the matter: _how_ was he supposed to go back to that dorm room.

It was waiting there for him, strewn with reminders of how badly he'd fucked up that morning, everything in painfully obvious disarray except for the freakishly neat bed. After that morning, the very room felt poisoned and profaned — and still, as _always_ , in regrettably close proximity to his dangerous smirking nemesis. 

His room should be a refuge, but so far today, every time he'd been there, he'd left with an even bigger set of problems.

Minato looked up and realized he'd been pacing the length of the shopping center in agitation. Too bad Bookworms was closed for the night; a visit with his fake grandparents might have been soothing. Still, Hagakure was right upstairs, glowing with a warm and welcoming light. An early dinner would be a good way to prolong the inevitable return home. 

The ramen shop was just full enough, cozy but not crammed, enough of a crowd to grant him some privacy. Minato chose a table in the back corner and dropped tiredly into a chair. He poked glumly at the utensils while waiting for his order to arrive.

What was he going to do with himself? He couldn't spend the rest of his days avoiding the dorm, or ducking conversations lest he stop making sense halfway through, or constantly arguing with his own brain. Somehow he'd lost touch with reality this week. Maybe the cast of characters in his head had finally gotten to him; too much evoking, perhaps.

A bowl appeared in front of him. He half-heartedly acknowledged the waiter and picked up the chopsticks he'd been worrying at. 

The ramen was tasty, as usual, but he found it hard to focus on eating. He trailed off, staring down into his bowl and morosely poking bits of scallion into the liquid. He ate another mouthful of noodles with the express purpose of freeing up more poking space. 

He'd meant it, back at the festival, when he'd begged Akihiko to leave everything behind. He'd thought Akihiko's agreement was all he needed, and Minato could be free of it, wipe all that baggage away. And yet, here he was.

The slices of scallion kept popping back up above the surface of the broth, just like all the unwanted thoughts he couldn't keep buried.

He made a noise of disgust at his self-indulgent metaphor, and stuffed a spoonful of ramen into his mouth to wash it away.

Perhaps he just needed to give things more time. It had only been one week... It wasn't surprising for his brain to seize on this as fun and dangerous, some intrigue to distract from the looming darkness in their daily lives.

Except he didn't _need_ a distraction; he needed to stay the course. Keep his focus and be ready for whatever might be coming next, because his real responsibilities were to the team: keeping them in fighting shape, maintaining his relationships, advancing his fusions. With everything else going on, this fixation would have to die down, as long as he didn't give it more fuel.

So, that was a plan then, maybe. His next bite of noodles had a bit more vigor. He would keep doing what he was already doing — pretend nothing had happened, avoid Akihiko whenever possible — and maybe try sleeping more to cut down on the crazy dreams. And if Akihiko kept going with this note-writing campaign, whatever 'secret' he thought he'd figured out...then they might have to have a chat, but Minato _really_ hoped it wouldn't come to that. 

Yes, this should work.

He bent closer to inhale the next scoop of broth, letting the rich scent fill his nostrils and the steam waft over his face.

And the sense memory slammed him backwards, into the wall of steam he'd encountered that morning. In the shower. The shower he'd very nearly _shared_ with Akihiko.

Goosebumps flashed across his body, despite the hothouse atmosphere of the ramen shop. 

So, maybe the "dying down" part was a work in progress. He added "stop thinking about this morning" to the list of action items, then sighed faintly and settled down to finish his soup before it got cold.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Minato's footsteps slowed as he approached the dorm's front door.

For all his self-encouraging pep talks, the thought of returning to the scene of the crime — living in the scene of the crime — still made him feel jittery and tense. Wasn't it easier to just...not go home yet?

Except that was absurd, and not an option. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. 

Mitsuru was alone in the living room, sitting in the wingback chair with her back to him. Past the divider of the dining room, Minato could just glimpse a curl of Ken's hair.

A breath of relief escaped him. No danger from either of those two. 

A metallic clatter broke out in the kitchen. " _Aki!_ " bellowed a gruff voice. "I swear to–!" 

The kitchen door flew open and a grinning silver-haired visage burst through at a run, a strip of steak hanging out of his mouth. 

Ken shouted in surprise as Akihiko dashed behind him, which set Koromaru to barking. Akihiko whirled to a stop just past the end of the table, face alight as he pulled the meat into his mouth, arms raised to fend off the chef if necessary. 

Shinjiro caught the door on the backswing, brandishing his tongs through the opening but not relinquishing the room. "That's it," he yelled. "I'm givin' your portion to the dog." Koromaru yipped excitedly.

" _My_ portion?" jeered Akihiko. "You weren't gonna give me any!"

"Not anymore..." the other called viciously, voice fading as he dropped back into the kitchen.

Minato's window of opportunity was closing, verging dangerously close to a window of entrapment if he dared walk past the dining room now. On instinct his arm reached back, grasping the doorknob. As he turned around, he caught Mitsuru looking at him. His eyes widened as hers flicked quizzically down to his hand.

He shook his head at her — back and forth once, the motions crisp and deliberate — before slipping back out the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

Minato's fingers tapped an anxious, rhythmless pattern against the plastic of his seat. Normally he'd never fidget like this, but today seemed incapable of being _normal_ in any way. 

He shoved his drumming fingers into his pocket and looked out the window. Dusk had deepened since he left the dorm, and was just tipping over into night. Behind his reflection was only darkness, spliced with shards of reflected light as they glided over the harbor.

Even with them stuffed in his pockets, he could still feel his knuckles twitch, slight tremors in his fingers. The nerve impulses kept firing incessantly; he could practically feel them overloading the channel and backing up the length of his arm. He surged to his feet before his leg could start tapping, and paced towards the door as the train slid into Port Island station.

He burst loose into the cool night air of the platform.

He'd gotten on the train without a destination in mind, nothing except "away from Iwatodai." Too bad it was only the monorail, unable to take him any true distance, anywhere besides the same familiar haunts.

None of which seemed appealing at the moment. He didn't need movies, he didn't need coffee; feeling more trapped or more jittery would not help, thank you very much. He wished he was still hungry.

He left the station and stalked down the street, glaring at the gates of Gekkoukan as he went past. Irritation drove him onward. He was irritated to be out here, wandering the streets in the dark, all because he was afraid of his _dorm room_ and _walking past his senpai_. His next step stomped onto the ground and he pushed himself to stride faster. Moving forcefully felt good, and maybe he could burn off some nervous energy. If he exhausted himself before going home, he might be able to collapse straight into sleep.

It wasn't surprising that he ended up at Paulownia Mall; nothing else on the island was open. He gazed around the brightly lit space, trying to feel soothed by the burbling of the fountain, waiting for something to catch his eye. 

No way was he going to Mandragora. The visceral reaction he'd had to Namiko's invite last week had stuck with him, and the idea of entering a karaoke booth, even alone, made his skin crawl. Perhaps he'd go to the arcade...lose himself in the noise, maybe blow the heads off some zombies. 

To his left he heard a scuffle. The bouncer from Escapade was gently trying to move one of the Lost away from the club's door. Minato could hear her moaning even over the sounds of the fountain. 

...Perhaps zombie slaying wasn't a good idea. 

Something was tickling his memory, though. He'd heard something about Club Escapade... Oh, from Yuko! She'd said there was a Buddhist monk who hung out there at night, drinking _and_ smoking. Minato shrugged to himself. It was a diversion at least. Maybe watching someone more screwed up than him would make him feel better.

The attendant raised an eyebrow at his ID and taped a screamingly orange wristlet onto him. Minato didn't care about being labeled underage — he was there for the schadenfreude, not to sneak a drink. 

He circled the room, squinting in the dim light. Maybe the monk was in street clothes? No, if that was true, no one would know he was a monk. He must not have come tonight.

Minato settled in a corner and thought about ordering some tea. Wait, there was a balcony — he hadn't checked up there. 

His feet didn't make it off the stairs before the swirl of Buddhist robes started growling at him about booze. 

Minato cocked an eyebrow at the ridiculous display of turf defense. This was the nicest spot in the club, spacious with comfortable couches, but clearly this guy didn't want to share. 

The monk glared straight at him. "I don't got nothin' to say to anyone who doesn't have any booze," he rumbled.

Huh. A challenge, maybe, rather than an attempt to chase him off. Minato stared for a moment, hands in his pockets, then spun and headed back down the stairs. Behind him the monk harrumphed in satisfaction. 

Minato walked up to the bartender. He nodded roughly towards the balcony. "Monk wants a drink." 

The guy laughed. "I'm sure he does. And what, he sent you to fetch it?" His eyes flicked pointedly towards Minato's wristband.

Minato gazed back steadily. "Yep."

The bartender snorted. "Riiiiight. Look, I'll make you a deal." He gestured around the room, semi-crowded in the early evening. "You bring me the orders of everyone in here, and I'll see about _the monk's_ drink." He turned back towards the taps. "Hope you like brandy, kid," he muttered. 

Five minutes later, Minato was back at the bar. (The table of young men near the dance floor had been incredibly indecisive.) Upon seeing it was him, the bartender rolled his eyes. 

"What are you still doing here?" he asked impatiently. 

Minato took a deep breath. "Five beers, two bottle, three draft, one screwdriver, one cosmopolitan, two gin and tonics, one whisky on the rocks," a small gasp for air, "an amaretto sour, and one apple martini."

The bartender blinked at him. 

"AND, an oolong tea and a brandy, _please_." 

"Hanae..." called the bartender, his voice rising with urgency on the last syllable. 

A waitress popped out from the back. "What?" 

"We've got orders!" He started assembling glassware on the bar in front of him — several pint glasses, a highball, two martini glasses...and a snifter. He glanced up at Minato for a second, before speaking back over his shoulder. "Start an oolong, first."

"Got it," she said, disappearing into the kitchen again. The bartender quickly began pouring vodka. 

Minato turned around to lean against the bar as he waited. A tiny smile played at his lips. 

Hanae reappeared with a tray of tea things. The bartender added the filled brandy snifter as she went past, while dispensing soda water with the other hand. "That's for upstairs."

She paused quizzically. "Both of 'em?"

The bartender made a shooing motion. "And get back here fast, you've got a dozen more to go!"

She shrugged and took off with the delivery. Minato sauntered up the stairs behind her, giving a polite nod as she passed on her way back down. 

He picked up the tea cup and sat down near the monk, savoring his first sip.

"Was gonna be angry if you'd sent me _tea_ ," groused the monk, reaching for his brandy.

"But you got that unmotivated bastard to send me anything, so there must be somethin' to ya." The monk turned towards Minato. "You look awfully young, kid. You still in high school?" 

Minato murmured noncommittally and the monk shook his head. "What're they thinkin', lettin' you in here..."

He took a slug of brandy. "So, why're ya here anyway? Wanted to see where adults spend their time?

"Don't worry, in two or three more years you'll be old enough to hang out here unsupervised."

Minato snorted faintly. "Don't need supervising." He flashed the ugly orange wristband he was wearing. "Got you served despite this, didn't I?" 

"So then what, you lookin' for a girl?" Minato shook his head. "Good," said the monk, "cuz you ain't gonna find one up here." He gestured at the empty balcony.

"No," agreed Minato. "Hanging with you is not the best way to pick up women."

The monk looked taken aback by his brashness, then let loose a guttural laugh. "Got a smart mouth on ya! But you speak the truth." He paused, chest puffing proudly. "I don't need to meet women, already got a wife. And a good one — kind, good in the kitchen." 

But after a couple seconds, the pride drained away and he sagged back, cigar hand waving dismissively. "'Course, she left me."

Minato's eyes raised from his teacup, connecting with the monk's. The two of them froze momentarily, Minato telecommunicating his sympathy, then the monk began blustering in anger.

"Stop lookin' at me like that, don't want any'a your _pity_." He spat the last word out, smoke trailing off it like a physical manifestation.

Minato nodded in acceptance, breaking eye contact to take another sip of tea. 

"My opinion? It's best to not even start. Most of life's troubles have to do with others. 

"At the end of the long, lonely road of love, you're the only one left standin' there."

The monk grunted in support of his own sentiment and took a swig of brandy. He'd only been grousing, but that comment hung in the air, settling down over Minato, turning over in his stomach. It was a contradiction in terms, "lonely road of love," but it resonated somehow. Minato _was_ feeling pretty lovelorn and alone right now. The thought that there might not be anything better coming, no future state where things were calmer and steadier, _reliable_ rather than maddening... Well, it was profoundly depressing, but also quite clarifying. 

"Which means, you made the right choice," came the gravelly voice, interrupting his thoughts. Minato started, cup rattling against its saucer.

So wait, the monk agreed he should put this behind him, not let it go any farther? 

"In comin' up here. Leave the girls to their dancing, you don't need 'em." Oh, right. That choice. 

Had he really been about to out himself to a stranger? Because this was _clearly_ the best place to confide — surely the _old religious man_ would understand Minato's ambivalence towards embarking on an ill-defined, sexually adventurous relationship with his male teammate. Minato rubbed at his temple with the heel of one hand. He had completely lost his edge today.

The monk was snickering to himself. "Though, if you can bring one of those dames over here, I'd be your friend in return." He waited, grinning. "Eh? Whaddya think?" 

Minato paused, debating whether to appease him or not, play along like he did for everyone else. He _should_ , this conversation had to be working its way towards a new social link... 

He swallowed a weary sigh and leaned back against the cushion, a half-smile sliding onto his lips. "What do I want with a friend who leaves me for the first chick he sees?" 

The snicker became a cackle. "Now you're learnin'!" the monk exclaimed. "Well said."

Minato let the smile form fully, and smugly sipped at his drink. 

"People always want something in a relationship," said the monk, puffing meditatively on his cigar. "They only really love themselves." 

He glanced out over the crowd, growing louder beneath them on the main floor, then went back to nursing his drink and scrutinizing Minato.

"You still seem optimistic about the world," the monk observed. Minato wondered why he thought that, today of all days. "But here's a little trick, so you don't lose hope in the future.

"...Just don't expect nothin'. Simple, eh? That way you won't ever be disappointed."

He gazed down into his glass, going a little maudlin. "Otherwise, when things don't work out, you'll hafta smoke and drink just to get through the day..." 

Minato drained the last of his tea and set the cup back into its saucer. The clink startled the monk out of his reverie. 

He smiled ruefully. "But why would you listen to an alcohol-drinkin', cigar-smokin' monk, eh?" 

Minato gazed back at him somberly. 

"Does alcohol taste good?" he asked.

"Some say it does..." The old man looked down, swirling the amber-colored liquid. "I just drink to get drunk. It makes me feel good. Empties my head out."

Minato sighed, almost wistfully. "Wouldn't _that_ be nice," he muttered. 

The monk looked at him, eyes suddenly sharp. He tossed back what was left in his glass. "Get me another one," he ordered gruffly. 

Minato dutifully got to his feet and went back to the bar. 

The bartender was putting the finishing touches on some bizarre concoction — an enormous glass of frozen blue and white swirls, with whipped cream and maraschinos on the top. He was carefully inserting a circle of straws around the outside. 

"Another brandy?" he asked, without looking up. Minato nodded. 

"Good, something simple." He summoned up another snifter and filled it from a short, squat bottle. He held it out to the waitress.

"Deliver this, and _make sure_ he finished the last one. I'll take care of the fishbowl." They walked off in opposite directions, Hanae towards the stairs, the bartender towards a table of women giggling and shrieking in the corner. 

Minato rolled his eyes at their precautions. He wasn't angling for the monk's brandy. 

Hanae returned bearing the empty glass and Minato went back upstairs. 

The monk was holding the new glass, lifting it in acknowledgment as he arrived. Minato nodded and sat down on the red banquette. The monk then set the glass on the table and pushed it towards him.

Minato blinked at him. 

"Go on, have some. Jus' be quick about it and set the glass back near me."

"What happened to 'too young to be here'?"

The monk shrugged. "This job has taught me something about readin' people. Not that it's ever helped in my personal life, but there's a first time for everythin'."

His face softened for a split second then fell back into gruffness. "I can tell another lost soul when I see it. My gut says you could use this tonight."

Minato thought for a minute. He'd never had the opportunity to drink before, and straight liquor was hardly the easiest place to start. Still, his brain could use a little emptying right about now.

He reached for the glass and took a cautious sip, setting it back down quickly. The liquor burned against the roof of his mouth, but he didn't let himself choke in a panic. He inhaled through his nose and swallowed deliberately. 

The brandy blazed a line down his throat and through his chest. Minato blinked in surprise. He'd never noticed the location of his esophagus before.

The monk cackled and clapped him hard on the back. "Good job, boy. Don't forget to breathe." 

Minato gave a weak nod. 

"If we're drinkin' together, and I'm covering for you, I'd better know your name."

Minato tried to cough discreetly. "Name's Minato."

"And you can call me by my Buddhist name, Mutatsu." The monk nodded proudly and went to reach for the brandy, before pulling his hand back. "Forgot that isn't mine," he rumbled. He puffed at his cigar instead, gesturing Minato towards the glass.

Minato's eyes widened — he hadn't gotten over the first bit yet — but he took another small sip. The blaze wasn't quite as bad this time; he could almost taste something over the flavor of burning. Not that it tasted _good_ , but at least his tastebuds weren't permanently damaged. 

"Woulda ordered ya something sweeter, but they know those colorful things ain't for me. So, you're stuck with the good stuff."

"The good stuff..." echoed Minato, tightness in his throat making him croak. 

"Tch," chided the monk, "don't be ungrateful." His eyes narrowed. "And for that, I'm taking some too." He picked up the glass and took a drink from the other side. 

To his own surprise, Minato found himself reaching for the glass after Mutatsu set it down. The monk was right, the brandy wasn't sweet _at all_ — he couldn't even begin to describe how it tasted — but it was intriguing. It made his chest feel tighter and more expansive at the same time, every breath a strange new sensation in his nose, his throat, his lungs.

He tried to take a bigger gulp this time, but nearly choked on it. 

"Take it easy, kid. You drink everything like that?"

To make up for his splutter, Minato downed another sip before putting the glass back on the table.

"There's no need to rush," reproved the monk. "Give it time to hit you."

Minato inched the glass closer towards Mutatsu and leaned back against the vinyl. He could feel the rumble of the bass downstairs vibrating faintly through the cushion. 

He watched the flickering candlelight play over the posters on the wall. From one blink to the next, he suddenly couldn't read them as well; his vision had gone blurry. 

Startled, he raised his hand and looked at it, gaze shifting between it and the poster. Okay, it was mostly his distance vision at this point, that was good. He vowed to slow down with the brandy. 

"Heheh, now you're feelin' it." The monk chuckled for a moment, then his voice shifted harsh. "That's why you never drink it fast, you hear me? Stay in control. You gotta protect yourself."

Minato nodded, feeling the wisdom of his advice. 

"Wish I'd been able to teach _my_ son that," Mutatsu muttered darkly. 

Minato rested his hands on his knees and closed his eyes. His head felt pleasantly buzzy — not dizzy yet, but it might end up there if he wasn't careful. He could tell his face was flushed; by sensation alone he knew exactly where the red was staining his cheeks.

The fuzziness felt really nice for the moment. The rest of the world and all his problems were so very far away, his concerns dwindled down to the immediate. All he had to worry about was shepherding himself through the next moment, and the next, and the next.

The monk blew smoke towards the ceiling and watched thoughtfully as it dispersed. "So, what'cha hidin' from, kid? Not that I care or anything."

Minato flopped his head back and forth without lifting it from the seat back. "It's nothing important."

Mutatsu looked offended. "Don't think cuz I'm a monk I don't know nothin' about the world. I've seen plenty of trouble..."

He bent forward with a mean squint. "And you're here drinkin' my booze, aren't you? You don't seem like the type to be doin' this, not like my punk ass son. So don't tell me you're not escapin' something."

Minato shook his head again. With Mutatsu's help he'd managed to detach, find this happy little bubble of ignorance, at least for the moment. He had no desire to pull the lid on his troubles back open.

When Minato didn't answer, the monk leaned back with a scoff. "Fine, ignore me. Just like the rest of 'em."

The guilt trip worked. "No, that's not it..." groaned Minato, voice perilously close to a whine. "It's just, hard to talk about."

"Well, try," came the ill-tempered reply. "Humor an old man with no family left t' talk to."

Minato reached for the brandy and took another drink, letting the warmth wash down his body. There seemed to be a way to do it right, get the alcohol past his tastebuds quickly, without letting fumes hit the back of his throat and trigger that weird ticklish need to cough. So either he was getting better at this, or he was tipsy enough to no longer care.

The monk sucked on his cigar, wearing a critical expression. "I'm waitin'..."

Minato sighed with force. " _Fine_ ," he grumbled.

He tried to pull his thoughts together, figure out how to say any of this out loud. His gaze locked onto a floor tile in front of him, preventing accidental eye contact. He was grateful his reddened face would hide any blush caused by this confession. 

"I'm... _interested_ in someone." He chose his next words with care, stepping around the dangerous landmines that were pronouns. "But, we live in the same building. We're in the same club, even, and I'm kinda in charge."

"So?" Mutatsu was unimpressed.

" _So_ , it's risky. I shouldn't do anything about this, because if things don't work out between us, I'm stuck there. Pursuing it isn't a chance worth taking." 

Minato laced his fingers together, the motions slow and miserable. "That's what I was running from tonight. I didn't want to go home and have it keep staring me in the face."

His mouth twisted sardonically. "Because yeah, trying to get drunk, in public, with a stranger, actually _isn't_ the stupidest thing I've done today." He dropped his head back onto the top of the couch, staring hopelessly towards the ceiling. 

"These feelings are a bad idea..." His voice got quieter. "...But I can't seem to make them go away." 

Silence fell over the balcony, except for the throbbing of music from down below. 

Mutatsu exhaled a long stream of smoke and gazed at him. "I get the feelin' that's the most words you've said in a week."

Minato snorted. _A week_ , how ironic. And what a week it had been. 

"Alright, listen up, kid. You're gettin' some honest advice on top of your free booze tonight, but I'm only saying this once." He pointed the cigar in Minato's direction. "You ready?" he demanded. 

Laying it all out there had left Minato feeling pretty demoralized; he couldn't imagine Mutatsu saying anything that would make it better. 

"Pay attention!" barked the monk. "Show some respect."

Minato glumly hauled himself upright and tried to look attentive. He wondered if the monk would let him sneak another sip while he listened. 

Mutatsu gave a brusque but satisfied nod, and then immediately seemed to struggle with his words. 

Minato seized his opportunity, snagging the brandy while Mutatsu scratched at his neck and pondered where to begin. He swallowed his mouthful, gave a full-body shudder, and slipped the glass back into the table. 

It made him feel a bit blurrier, but also a bit more capable of surviving this conversation. 

Mutatsu rumbled to a start. "Those folks downstairs, it looks like they're havin' fun drinkin' and dancin', don't it?" Minato raised a befuddled eyebrow. The monk thought he should go dance? What was with all the dancing lately!?

Mutatsu didn't notice his reaction, trundling onward like a tractor trailer with momentum. "But, if you look close, their eyes say otherwise. They come here to relieve stress, but I wonder if anyone of 'em are actually enjoying themselves... 'Cuz stress doesn't go away unless you take care of its source. You can forget about it, but it'll always come back."

He rubbed a hand over his bald head. "Geez, listen to me go on. I'm not always so good with words." He puffed on the cigar. "What I'm tryin' to say is... Hiding from what scares you won't make it go away." His voice hardened. "It can ruin your life, though. Make 'em wait long enough and everyone will leave you. And livin' alone with your regret, that isn't fun. You'll end up someplace like this. Like me. 

"The important people in your life, they're worth takin' risks for."

He looked over at Minato and grunted. "Dammit, kid, were you even listening?"

Minato had caught every word, though he wished he hadn't. What he needed was reinforcement, encouragement to keep up the resistance — not to hear how his life was headed for inevitable, crushing loneliness. 

"Yes, Mutatsu-san," he whispered, "I was listening." 

"Hmmph." The monk shifted in his seat. "Good."

Minato reached for the brandy and threw another shot down his throat. 

As he sat the glass down, the world suddenly seized around him, forcefully dragging itself away from his body. Minato winced and put his wrists to his temples. This part was _way_ trippier with alcohol involved. 

The mysterious voice rang in his head. 

 

_You have become acquainted with the monk.  
Despite his harsh words, Mutatsu seems to care about helping you._

_Thou shalt have our blessing when thou choosest to create a Persona of the Tower Arcana..._

 

Minato groaned as the booming tones reverberated through his skull. 

 

_You have established and advanced a new Social Link!_

_Your power to create Personas of the Tower Arcana has grown!_

 

Seriously, why did it _always_ have to be so dramatic. He groggily rolled his eyes open as Mutatsu began moving again. 

"You look tired, kid. I won't have you falling asleep on me!"

The monk scowled and grabbed what was left of the brandy, shooing Minato away with his other hand. 

"Go home. I got some thinkin' to do."

Minato nodded blearily. He did feel incredibly tired all of a sudden. He stood up, almost stepped on his own shoe, and abruptly sat back down again. 

Mutatsu snapped loudly in his direction. "Hey, look at me! Are you drunk or just tired?" 

"Just tired," muttered Minato. He knew the fatigue was mostly psychological; the brandy might be potent, but it wasn't strong enough to make him forget. 

"You know where you're going?" demanded the monk. "Got money for the train?"

Minato stood up, successfully this time. "YES." 

"You be _responsible_ going home," the monk growled. "And drink two glasses of water when you get there. Don't make me regret helping you."

"I promise."

"I don't want see you back here, either. Live your life or don't — but if you hang out in places like _this_ , you'll only meet people like me." 

Minato suppressed an eye roll. There were far wickeder people in the world than fatherly washed-up monks, however cranky they might be. Hell, one of those people lived across the hall from Minato.

"And if the staff figures out I gave you a drink, you're getting a swift kick in the ass!"

Minato smiled at that one. "Goodnight, Mutatsu-san."

The monk gave a dismissive wave and returned to contemplating his snifter.

Minato took a moment at the top of the staircase to collect his balance, and then set out. He tottered down the stairs with relative grace, holding his breath as he scurried past the waitress before she could scrutinize him too closely, then out past the security guard and into the wind-swept night, where the clouds scuttled across the sky as if they too were escaping something.

He let go of his breath in a sigh of relief, though there hadn't been much danger. But even so, his feet kept going, moving at a steady clip like they were still in flight. Like he was barely outpacing the thoughts he'd managed to leave behind, back there with Mutatsu; as if the alcohol could only suppress so much, and it would all catch up with him if he didn't keep moving. 

He tucked his head down and kept up the pace. 

With the brandy pulsing through his veins he had protection against the autumn chill, but at this hour of the night, the trip home was long. Long, and silent but for the wind in the trees. He was used to this walk post-Tartarus, with the team around him — surrounded by chatter on a good night, and sympathetic warm bodies on a bad one. 

He pulled his uniform jacket tighter. It felt weird to be out here alone, and even weirder with the strange throb of alcohol in his system. Leaving him flushed and chilled at the same time, making the flat engineered ground feel like it was rolling beneath him, like shadows might roil out of it at any moment.

The creepy atmosphere wasn't helping either. Dark clouds kept gusting the moonlight in and out, creating an aura of dread that made him feel like he really was being chased. He shook his head and tried to slow down a tick.

What a mess this day had been. Like it had been _designed_ to throw him off his game -- each hour bearing a worse embarrassment or ever more convoluted coincidence. What were the chances he'd actually meet Yuko's monk? What were the chances it would be a social link? Who was behind the cosmic-level _joke_ his life was turning into? 

He grunted aloud. He probably shouldn't be surprised. Of _course_ Mutatsu had appeared to offer respite from Minato's current mental stress-storm, only to immediately skewer it. A whole evening spent carefully coaching himself, trying to let it all go...lost in a blink when the old man cut straight to the heart of the matter, puncturing the tenuous solace Minato had been able to gather. 

He trudged along towards the train station, sullen and brooding, feeling trapped in his own life.

As he walked, the silence of Port Island at night began to press in around him. It built higher and higher, nothingness ringing loudly in his ears, combining with the roaring wind to form a deafening swirl of white noise. 

It was the loudest blankness he'd ever heard — and a canvas for Mutatsu's words to creep back into his mind. Isolated at first, but they echoed effortlessly, repeating themselves and fitting to his footsteps until it became a marching cadence of recrimination.

'End up alone.' 'Worth the risk.'

'End up alone.' 'Worth the risk.'

And suddenly, the visage of Mutatsu broke through, lip curled, cigar waving as he scolded. 'Hiding from what scares you won't make it go away.'

A chill surged over him that had nothing to do with the wind.

Except Minato _wasn't_ scared, not of external forces -- he was terrified. Terrified he'd find another note, terrified he'd like it, terrified his dreams would keep creeping over into his daylight hours. Terrified that he couldn't hold out, and terrified of what might happen if he let go. 

A sharp breeze cut through him and he shivered. 

Terrified, but so very wanting.

He relaxed into it for a second, let the warmth of all those thoughts and memories and fantasies flood through him...before slamming the door shut again. 

Mutatsu didn't understand the consequences of this choice. How it was better for Minato to be alone, to ruin his life if it came to that. _Anything_ was better than letting the shadows break free, than losing everyone to Apathy Syndrome. He could suffer the self-denial to save his friends, his city — he'd suffer the solitude if that's what it took. 

He reached the station and waited on the platform, standing stoic and firm as the wind blasted over him. Yes, if that's what it took... He was battle-hardened. He had the fortitude to stare down pop quizzes _and_ unimaginable nightmare monsters. He could certainly resist one inappropriate attraction. 

The monorail slid into place in front of him and he stepped forward with conviction.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Twenty minutes later, he stumbled into his bedroom, finally as physically exhausted as he was mentally exhausted. He turned on the lights, recoiled at the brightness, and immediately shut them off again. Instead, he stripped his clothes off in the dark, exchanging them for the pajamas still sitting on the floor from that morning, and fumbled his way towards the bed.

He was glad he couldn't see it, the cover laid in perfect smoothness, before he unceremoniously ripped it back and fell into the sheets. He beat the pillow several times with his fist, sliding a hand underneath in preparation for flopping onto it — and felt a crinkle against his knuckles. 

He pulled a now-rumpled sheet of paper out from under the pillow, and tilted it towards the window, squinting in the darkened room. The characters swam before forming into something legible.
    
    
         _I know you haven’t forgotten about last Saturday._  
    
    
    
    
         _And neither have I._

He gave a garbled snort of victory. See, Akihiko didn't have all the answers — Minato hadn't thought about last Saturday in _days_. Admittedly, that was because he'd had too many _other_ images rattling around in there, drowning out the hazy originals. But it still counted! And he'd keep working on proving this statement wrong. 

Either way, he was going to have to start keeping his room locked. 

Minato flopped back onto the pillow, hand with the note raised high. He crumpled the page one-handed and pitched it carelessly across the room, in the vague direction of his desk and trashcan. He then reeled his arm in, snuggled deep into the blankets, and fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, half of the Tower social link in one fell swoop! Igor had better give me a level bonus for that.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Minato woke up.

Simply woke up, opening his eyes to quiet and tranquillity. His heart wasn't racing, his mind was calm, his body was resting peacefully. He blinked at the ceiling in surprise. 

He sat up cautiously. No hangover, no ill effects from the alcohol, and most importantly, NO DREAMS. He felt a little tired, fatigue in his limbs, but that was no different than after a night in Tartarus. 

He pushed his hair out of his face and poked around for his phone. He flipped it open to check the time. It was later than he usually woke up, but not inappropriately so. Oh, and Amazing Commodities was starting in two minutes. That was fortuitous, he'd have hated to miss the show.

He padded over to the TV in bare feet. Flicking it on, he glanced out the window. Crystal blue sky, trees full of glossy leaves flashing in the breeze, a perfect sunny day. He half wondered if this was another dream, just a _nice_ one for once. Maybe an apology from his subconscious for being such an ass all week.

He clambered back into bed and nested the blankets around his legs. Tanaka's theme song came pouring out of the speakers, in all its obnoxious, catchy glory. Minato grinned.

The show had become even more mesmerizing since he'd developed a relationship with the strange, manipulative man and seen the deviousness behind the salesman's smile. He liked to watch with one eye closed and picture the _real_ Tanaka hosting the show, making rude comments and shocking the spokesmodels.

Since the president would never violate his public persona like that, Minato could only imagine the backlash — gasps from the telephone operators, the carillon of ring tones grinding to a halt, the crushed expression on that one particularly emotive model. Though maybe not the last one...that woman worked with Tanaka every week, she had to know the score. If Tanaka talked to other prospective models the way he solicited Minato, no way had she gotten through with her illusions intact. 

Sadly, the wristwatches had already sold out, and the bopping music was fading away. It was time for another fictional episode of "Tanaka's On-Air Meltdown" to draw to a close. 

Minato turned out into the room for the first time, stretching his legs over the side of the bed. He tapped his bare toes against the floor as he examined the space. The room was still a disaster, the messiest it had ever been. His uniform was crumpled on the floor, towel trailing off the seat of his chair, robe dangling precariously on the corner of the desk...and dead center in the middle of it all: last night's balled-up sheet of notebook paper.

He stared at the white splotch for a moment, letting the sound of television commercials wash over him. Ignoring the dreams had finally helped them go away...maybe ignoring the notes would do the same. He pushed himself up and out of the bed, striding over to seize the paper out of the pile of clothing, and throwing it into the trash with a vicious thunk. He then flung open the desk drawer and added that sheet to the bin for good measure. He stopped and took a deep, cleansing breath.

Okay, step number two to getting over this: clean up the debris of yesterday. He hip-checked the drawer shut, snapped off the television, and bustled around the room. Laundry gathered, boots put away, comb rescued from where it had fallen and slid partway under the refrigerator...it felt good, putting the room back to rights. Erasing the reminders of how yesterday had gone down. 

He was stuffing his laundry bag back into the closet when it struck him: the next step was to make the bed.

He turned around and eyed the pile of blue blankets. Well...he'd successfully slept there one night, right? Maybe he didn't have to view it as tainted. (He was consciously ignoring how hard he'd worked at being able to pass out, that he'd _gone out drinking_ and walked half the city, in order to be tired enough to use that bed.) 

Rather than ruminate, he stepped forward briskly and tugged at the covers. He strained to keep his mind aloft as he pulled them straight, trying to maintain the bright mindset and not sink into _contemplation_.

There. He backed quickly away, returning to the closet for his casual clothes and directing his mind towards the day ahead. 

He slid a t-shirt over his head. Well, it was Sunday, so clearly he should go to the shrine and look for Akinari. The boy had seemed down during their last meeting, and Minato worried he'd take a turn for the worse. Plus, the weather would get colder soon, so who knew how much longer they'd be able to sit outside together.

He snorted as he pulled on his sneakers. It would also be refreshing to spend time with someone who had _real_ problems — remind himself how ludicrous it was to be dwelling on this.

Still, he hesitated just outside his door, and then turned around and dug out his key. Most of the residents didn't bother with their personal room keys — no one but Mitsuru owned much of value, so locking the interior doors was an unnecessary annoyance. But right now, Minato needed every bulwark and level of protection he could get.

Room securely locked and mental state reinforced, Minato set out to start his day.

He arrived downstairs in time for a late breakfast with Yukari and Ken, who were watching Featherman reruns. It was delightful and relaxing, and untainted by nerves because he-who-would-not-be-thought-about was still on his regularly scheduled run. Minato scooted out the door with plenty of time before the end of said run, taking Koromaru on a walk through the gorgeous sunshine.

Koromaru took off in a run as they came in sight of the shrine. Despite their history of conflict, when Minato crested the stairs, he found Akinari smiling at the shiba. The two boys sat on the bench and chatted about books, enjoying the warm breeze, watching Koro-chan gleefully snap at the first-fallen leaves that occasionally twirled across the playground.

The conversation ended on a high note, talking about intentional hopefulness, and the fight to remain positive in the face of one's fate. Both of them were being strangely optimistic for once. Minato waved goodbye with a smile, collecting the tired dog who'd passed out under the jungle gym, and started the short walk back to the dorm.

Sure, he was going to spend the evening writing a stupid history report, but he was happy with how he'd spent his day — this had been exactly the right choice to put his problems in proper perspective. There was no need for tricking himself, with alcohol or with lies, or resorting to passive-aggressive, sophomoric _notes_ like someone he could mention...all they had to do was act like grown-ups and move on, and everything would be fine.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Minato ran face-first into his bedroom door when it failed to open, nearly dumping a cup of boiling instant noodles onto his chest.

Confused, he tried the handle again, but it wouldn't budge.

 _Right_ , it was locked. He'd have to start remembering that. Transferring the soup to his other hand, he fished out the key and flung the door open. 

He set the noodles on the desk to finish steeping and pulled out his laptop. It was time to remedy Mr. Ono's laziness, by letting the internet teach him about the Kenmu Restoration.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Two hours later, he was two pages into his essay, and bored out of his mind. He'd already lost 20 minutes to clicking on a banner ad for a new video game — the sequel to something he hadn't even _liked_ — and yet he still couldn't force himself to switch back and finish the assignment.

He probably didn't have to try very hard on the final page, Ono was a pretty lax grader... Worst case Minato could fill the space with some bullshit about how great the Sengoku Era was about to be, and Ono would be too starry-eyed to dock points for going off-topic.

But no, it irked him to take _quite_ such a cheap route. Plus, Mitsuru was so pleased when the grades he brought home were stellar rather than merely sufficient. He'd hate to disappoint her oddly mothering little heart.

He stood up with a huff of annoyance and stalked over to the light switch — twilight was falling outside and the desk lamp was no longer enough. Plus, it felt good to move, keep his brain from stagnating. He kept going after turning on the light, tracing a circle around the room, shuffling and shaking his legs out. 

He somewhat nervously inspected the bed as he went past, before realizing what he was doing. He shook his head and reminded himself that the room had been locked all afternoon. There couldn't be anything hidden, not _there_.

He dropped back into the chair, sagging against the seatback. He was thoroughly sick of the Kenmu Restoration. Focusing on this last page felt dreadful, and no amount of pacing or web browsing could distract him from that. He flipped his hair back out of his eyes. Maybe he could justify working on another assignment for a bit...finish the essay off later in the night, when he could convince himself to accept a lower quality standard. 

He went digging in his satchel for his datebook, and as he pulled it out, a tell-tale sheet of notebook paper popped loose from the bag and went fluttering to the floor. 

His heart skittered, traitorously, in his chest.

No. It wasn't possible, the door had been locked. He had _prevented_ this, dammit.

He sighed heavily, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose — a habit picked up from Mitsuru, no doubt — and retrieved the page. 

He stared down at it soundlessly. His name was on the front again this time. Akihiko's handwriting was fairly atrocious, based on the samples Minato had seen yesterday, but it seemed he'd put more effort into this one, the symbols a bit less blocky and a bit more graceful. 

Minato shook off the handwriting analysis and opened the note.
    
    
         _Perhaps at some point I'll get a proper 'thank you' for leaving your bed in better condition than I found it._

His gaze flicked unavoidably towards the bed. He _had_ been right in suspecting it, suspecting _something_.

He turned back to the page. More importantly, when had this note gotten here? Had it been planted this morning, while he was asleep?!

He took a deep breath. He couldn't jump to conclusions. He'd left his bag unattended in the lobby last night, when he fled the building; that was a far more logical possibility.

He glanced back towards the bed. Normally he kept the room tidy, but if Akihiko kept this up, Minato was going to develop an aversion to neatly made beds. Hell, maybe he should go on the offensive. If he stopped cleaning up after himself, perhaps he wouldn't be able to _find_ the damn notes.

He looked back at the paper. The kanji really were much tidier this time. This couldn't have been part of that first, hastily scrawled, round of notes. 

Because seriously, Akihiko wasn't a magician. Minato had _hurried_ through that shower. Between travel time, making the bed, writing and hiding all these notes...no way would Akihiko have had time for _daydreaming_. 

Minato blushed at his euphemism — covering up a mental image he _very much_ needed to avoid — and then abruptly blanched.

"Oh god," he murmured. A terrible possibility was dawning upon him. Maybe Akihiko _was_ making it up. Maybe he really hadn't done... _that_ in Minato's bed. Because again, he wouldn't have had time for it, and who would admit to that anyway? 

This was the same, stupid, _elaborate_ scheme he'd been fighting all along. Akihiko couldn't _talk_ to him, NO — he had to write asinine notes, full of tall tales, designed to trick Minato into revealing himself first.

Minato popped to his feet, torn between agitation and anger. These mind games were getting out of control.

He dumped the newest page into the trash, kicking at the can for good measure. It tipped up onto one rim and circled back to the ground with a satisfying clatter. Then he stopped and grabbed it, raising it to look inside. 

There were only three notes. He'd only thrown out three notes. Where was the other one, the scrolled page from in his shoe? 

He checked the drawer again, but found only a solitary rolling pencil. God, he really didn't want to go back to that moment, relive it to try and recall what he'd done with the page after reading it. He screwed his eyes into a grimace and did it anyway, casting his mind back...but he couldn't remember much outside of the shock. He'd probably just dropped it onto the floor of the closet, he hadn't had time for any other response. Except, he'd been in there earlier today, putting away his boots and dirty laundry — he should have seen it then. So what had happened to the note? 

He crossed the room in three quick steps, moving before his dread could overtake his curiosity. He flung the wardrobe open and stood there mutely, hand stuck to the doorframe, head tilted down as his synapses blinked in confusion. 

The scrolled note was once again sitting in his boot, upright and neatly curled. 

Minato turned and walked back to his desk chair, eyes staring blankly. He sat and looked at the small patch of white visible from his current angle, a square inch of paper blazing bright as any neon sign. He tried to process how this had happened. He tried to process _what_ was happening. He sat on his hands, to keep himself from going and touching and reading it again. He sat until he finally felt as pissed off as he was supposed to be. 

Who was Akihiko to keep putting him in these situations. _Minato_ was the leader, Minato was bearing those burdens. Minato had just enjoyed his best day all week, since Akihiko _hadn't_ been involved in it. Akihiko who somehow possessed the ability to break into his locked room! The anger flared on command. 

It was unacceptable; he refused to be bossed around anymore. He jumped to his feet and stomped over to the closet, crushing the page in his fist as he picked it up. He carried it back across the room like a furious knight returning with the banner of his enemies. He stood over the trash can, arm out straight, releasing the paper and its hold over him at the same moment. The page drifted down and settled amongst its brethren, crumpled and forlorn. 

Minato was halfway through a fierce nod of satisfaction when he noticed something, something unsettling.

There were dark markings, bleedthrough, on the back of the last note. A note originally written in pencil. 

He flinched as his hand started to reach for it again. He shouldn't read it, he _knew_ he shouldn't read it.

But he was going to.

His hand trembled faintly as he picked it up, from fury or apprehension he couldn't tell.

There had been an addition to the note. The penmanship was heavier and more aggressive, in black felt-tip.
    
    
         _Because_ I _definitely enjoyed your shower._  
    
    
    
    
         _Lying on your bed._  
         _Imagining what you were doing at that very moment._  
         _...Doing the same thing myself._  
    
      
    
    
    
    
         _**I'm not bluffing.  Wouldn't lie about something I enjoyed that much.**_  
    
    
    
    
         _**Though, next time I hope you can last longer.**_

His teeth grit into a snarl. Was that a goddamned smiley face?? After all this, Akihiko was dishing insults, and _challenging him_?!

Minato snapped, snatching the metaphorical gauntlet off the ground. He accepted that challenge. Oh, did he accept. A plan took immediate form in his mind, how to stymie Akihiko once and for all, prove he wasn't the only one with power around here. 

Minato flew out of the room and down the hall, slamming onto each and every step en route to the lobby. Fuuka and Junpei looked up at him in shock. 

"Fuuka," he growled. 

She looked flustered. "Um, yes, Minato-kun?" 

"We're going to Tartarus. Tonight."

"O-okay. We can do that."

He nodded firmly, eyes still afire, turned heel and marched back up the stairs. 

Junpei yelled after him from the living room. "You don't have to make a production about it, _geez_!"

As Minato topped the staircase, Akihiko had somehow materialized in the lounge. Though his books were spread out on the table, so apparently he'd been there all along. Great. Minato's teeth grated harder.

Akihiko had one shoulder leaned against the vending machine, wearing a thoughtful expression. ...And half a smirk, but by now, for Minato, that came with the territory.

Minato stopped on a dime, preparing for the confrontation. He tilted his head in challenge.

Akihiko grinned. He had the gall to look _impressed_.

Minato's eyes narrowed, daring Akihiko to say anything. In actual words, not a cowardly _note_.

Akihiko raised his hands in concession. He made a sweeping gesture down the hallway, yielding the space to Minato. 

Minato tossed his hair out of his face and stomped off down the hall.

"See you there!" Akihiko called cheerfully after him.

Minato shut his door with a bang.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some shadow fightin'! ...And some other fightin' too.

Minato traveled alone that night, arriving at the gates of Gekkoukan at the stroke of midnight. He strode to the head of the waiting group and, without a word, led them forward into the monstrous green tower. 

Once they'd gathered in the lobby, he turned to Fuuka. 

"How is everyone feeling tonight?"

"Shinjiro-senpai is sick," she reported.

"Tch, I'm _fine_ ," grumbled the boy, tugging his beanie lower to increase the menace in his glare.

Minato raised an appraising eyebrow at him. Fuuka was the more reliable witness, but he wanted the truth, not to be swayed by his hopes. Because an actually-sick Shinjiro would be a gift from the ancestors, the perfect fit for his plan. 

He began talking while still eyeing the fidgety third-year. "The team will include Koromaru," the akita barked joyfully, "and Ken." 

"Yes, yes, yes!" Ken fist-pumped in excitement.

A loud sneeze echoed up into the rafters. As everyone turned to look at him, Shinjiro scrubbed a fist across his nose and sullenly jammed it back into his pocket. 

Minato hid his grin and resolved to make an offering at the shrine the very next day. 

"And the final spot, is Akihiko."

Akihiko had been looking at Shinjiro, no doubt preparing to give him a rough time once the battle team left. His head popped up, gray eyes round with surprise. Minato deliberately kept his expression blank.

Akihiko nodded and hurried forward to join the others at the transporter.

"How exciting," Ken exclaimed, "I never get to be on a team with Sanada-san!"

Akihiko hummed ambiguously, wearing a polite smile for Ken's sake. "For good reason though," he mumbled at the edge of hearing. "How many Zios do we need at once?"

The green light of the teleporter surged up around them, and the quartet found themselves in Arqa. 

"Whoa," Ken said in awe, gazing up at the large purple skull on the wall before them. "I've never been here before!" 

"That's because it's the second block, we'd already cleared it before you..." Akihiko trailed off as he turned towards Minato for an explanation.

"We're low on money," shrugged Minato. "I can't buy our next round of upgrades yet. So I need all of you to fan out and search for chests, then we'll go to the next floor. Don't fight unless you have to, and call out if you get into trouble."

Everyone nodded firmly and took off in a different direction. Somewhere behind him, Minato heard the screech of a shadow scrabbling away from someone. Good. If the shadows were afraid, then no one would get ambushed.

Ken doubled back past him and headed off towards the other two. As soon as he was out of sight, Minato smiled and leaned back against the wall. 

In the distance he heard Koromaru howl enthusiastically, and Akihiko yell "I found something!". A minute later, Ken found the stairs and they were off for another round.

Over time, Minato got good at pretending to participate in the search — milling about with the others until they properly dispersed, then finding a convenient corner to rest in.

He felt a little bad, watching them trot off diligently on each new floor, but he was conserving his energy for a reason. And it wasn't like he didn't fight every night, all night. An evening of half-effort wasn't going to unbalance the karmic scales. 

Around and around they went, Minato making them search out every chest before climbing to the next floor. Akihiko was acting normal, his typical focused battle mentality. He seemed grateful to be seeing action in Tartarus and willing to behave in order to stick around — even if so far that 'action' had only included jogging.

They were exiting their third empty guardian level, when Koromaru collapsed onto the floor with a whine.

Ken came trotting up the stairs behind them. "I think he's tired, Minato-san."

Koromaru laid his chin on the ground and cast his eyes downward with a dejected noise. Minato kneeled in front of him and petted him on the head. "It's okay, boy, you can take a break. You were a great help tonight. New armor for everyone next week!"

Koromaru thumped his tail on the ground and pushed up into a sitting position. Minato got to his feet, intentionally looking away as Ken tried to suppress a yawn behind him.

"We'll go back to the lobby," he announced. Akihiko appeared next to them and nodded at the news. "Ken-kun, would you mind taking Koro-chan home?"

Ken's eyes looked sleepy, but an obvious protest was forming on the tip of his tongue. 

"As a favor to me," Minato interjected smoothly. "And him," he added, reaching down to ruffle the dog's fur. " _Someone_ needs to feed him, right boy?"

Despite his enervation, Koromaru responded with a bark of surprising force. A shadow that had been skulking at the end of the hall, definitively outside attack range, spooked at the noise and went chittering with fear into the other corridor. Everyone burst into laughter.

"I don't think you have a choice, Amada," said Akihiko.

"Yes, okay," laughed Ken. "I'll take you home and feed you!" He shook a finger at the akita. "But no complaining that Aragaki-san's is better."

The quartet rematerialized in the lobby and Minato addressed the rest of the team.

"Amada-kun and Koro-chan are returning to the dorm. Aigis and Yukari will replace them on the squad."

He turned abruptly on his heel and returned to the transporter, letting the selected team members trail along behind him — including a confused Akihiko, who shot him a look of surprise as the teleport's glow washed over them.

Minato had dropped them early in the Yabbashah block. Akihiko was excited about the change in venue, letting his enthusiasm override his curiosity about still being in the party. 

"Alright, it's time to fight!" He methodically cracked each of his knuckles. 

"You are correct, Sanada-san," Aigis replied in a particularly vehement monotone. She adjusted _her_ weaponized hands with equal meticulousness. "I am prepared to eliminate some enemies!" 

Aigis hadn't seen much action lately, either. Minato hadn't figured out a good role for her yet, how to best utilize her abilities within the team at large, which had caused her to fall behind in experience. Tonight was a great time for her to play catch-up, while paired with their strongest healer...and the overconfident boxer he needed to take down a peg or two. 

He let them fight. Aigis and Akihiko were ready to take on any pack that came their way, even the avoidable ones. He let them pick fights with every shadow they could find and burn through their resources like there was no tomorrow. Even so, Yukari spent more time on offense than healing — a full block back from their current battlefront, the going wasn't hard. 

Which was exactly as he wanted it. Despite his broader agenda, Minato refused to actually put anyone at risk — he was planning to push the team to their limit, but he'd do it with a full reservoir of spirit points and a carefully calibrated roster of personas, ready to be his own one-man rescue squad. 

And things were going well. Despite starting so many fights, they had a string of luck with staircases, and reached the mid-point of the zone far before he expected. Had it really been more than twenty floors already? 

Minato gathered the group. "How is everyone doing?" 

Akihiko piped up immediately. " 'm good." He was lying, just a little bit — Minato could tell he was starting to get tired, but he wasn't dragging yet. 

"I am ready to follow you anywhere." Okay, traditional non-answer from Aigis, but he could also read her pretty well. She was holding up for the moment, though she was out of practice and the strain of exertion was starting to show. 

"Yukari?"

She nodded. "I'm good." That one he actually believed. 

"Okay, then we keep going."

They churned their way through battle after battle. Yukari was locked in that night, her aim perfect, every shot landing true. Which was unfortunate, since he'd have to get rid of her soon. Maybe he should have made Mitsuru heal for the second group.

...He shuddered as that thought sank in, imagining Aigis collapsing while a string of Tentarafoos went off in the background. He so rarely put Mitsuru on support, he tended to forget _why_ — but there was a very good reason for it. 

Still, Yukari was wasted on these fights, obliterating enemies that the rest of the team would merely have slaughtered.

Meanwhile Aigis was struggling. 

She grew more and more ragged, but raised her chin defiantly and kept fighting. Minato took to subtly healing her after every fight, repairing the damage caused by her many draining attacks. He hope erasing her physical ailments would give her strength. 

Then, she slipped atop one of the platforms. So many of those unexplained blood spills were lurking underfoot, and she simply missed one. Her feet went skidding across it, sliding forward without the rest of her, and she slammed into the ground. Hard, on her back, and didn't move.

"Aigis!" Yukari dashed towards her. "Are you okay?"

Her blonde hair was splayed like a diadem, stark against the glimmering turquoise floor. The others exchanged uneasy glances. How did you check the pulse of an unconscious robot?

Minato was about to propose asking Fuuka, when Aigis' eyes burst open, wide and blue as the sea. "I have rebooted!" Her voice rang out insistently. "I am awake!" She sat up so quickly that Yukari had to hop backwards onto her feet.

Aigis kept muttering in an urgent, desperate voice, still looking straight ahead. "I am awake, Minato-san. I am fine."

The knife twisted in Minato's heart. She was dead-set on staying, despite her obvious struggles. He had to start putting her on the team more often.

"That's good, Aigis." He smiled, tenderly, in a way he'd normally hide but she somehow brought out in him. "I'm glad."

"Do you think you can stand up?" asked Akihiko.

"Yes, Sanada-san. As I stated, I am fine!" She folded her legs abruptly, precursor to another drastic movement, before Akihiko pressed forward, stopping her.

"Okay, then let's do this slowly. Give me your hands." With Akihiko's assistance, she got to her feet safely, rather than leaping up simply to prove her fitness for battle. 

Minato began to smile at him in gratitude, before remembering their baggage: that he was ticked off, and this entire setup was Akihiko's fault. For an instant, it morphed into a frown, except that felt bad in the face of Akihiko's kindness. He settled for fierce eyes and a firm nod, and turned quickly back to Aigis.

"You'd like to keep fighting, yes?"

Her eyes lit with rapturous, unquenchable hope at his question. "Very much, Minato-san."

"Then let us fight." He picked up his weapon to lead the group forward again.

A broad smile broke across her face. "Thank you, Minato-san," she added quietly.

He threw a wink back over his shoulder (what was _wrong_ with him, since when did he wink?) before leading them out of the room.

Things were quiet after that, until they encountered a pack of Indolent Maya two floors on. The generic-looking mayas were so rarely intimidating, but this group swarmed them by surprise — and started chain-casting Mazio. Both Yukari and Aigis were pinned to the ground through three straight electrical attacks, with no window to get up.

Finally there was a moment's peace. Aigis whimpered faintly from the ground, and Akihiko immediately used his turn to cast Diarama on her. Minato glanced at Yukari, but she was already popping to her feet, with murder in her eyes. "I'm okay, Minato-kun!" she called. "Worry about them, not me!"

Minato nodded, turning and releasing Maragi. The monsters smoldered briefly, but the attack didn't take anyone out.

The nearest shadow spun on him, empty eye sockets looming soullessly. It stretched its ugly elastic neck towards him and a dragging sensation washed over Minato's body.

Fuuka's voice popped in his head. "That's Sukunda, be careful! Your evasion is down!"

Minato gripped onto his sword harder and glared back at it. These shadows were old news, from the first half of the zone — they should be weak!

Across from him, Aigis pushed upright with a grunt. "That's it, Aigis!" he yelled in encouragement.

Akihiko nodded, noting her progress, so instead of healing he punched one of the Mayas. It reeled but didn't collapse. 

"I couldn't do it," he muttered, leaping back.

On the heels of his statement, that same Maya reeled up, waved its arms and, almost vindictively, cast another Mazio. Aigis hit the ground with a metallic thud.

Minato spun to look at Yukari and found her mid-dodge. As the sparks died away, her feet landed, already in aiming stance. "Can't get me that easily!" she shouted, loosing an arrow straight into the nearest Maya. Her shot vaporized the shadow and continued across the arena, striking the one in front of Akihiko.

"One more!" cheered Akihiko, as the Maya dissolved before his eyes.

A flash of silver was already flying towards the last enemy, the one near Minato. He stared hard as it began to collapse in on itself. The blank-faced mask dissolved last, fading away into wisps of shadow dust. 

The others were already headed towards Aigis, who remained kneeling on the ground, her head bowed.

"No shadows detected," announced Fuuka, "great job guys." She paused a beat. "However, I think that Aigis is–"

"NO," Minato broke in forcefully. "No. It's okay, Fuuka. We've got it."

He walked over to the trio and offered a hand to Aigis. She looked up at him, gears whirring far louder than usual. Then she looked away, proudly rejecting the offer and standing of her own volition.

Minato raised his eyebrows in question, and she nodded. 

"Okay then. We proceed."

The group formed up and headed into the next corridor. But, heartwarming moments aside, the foray's outcome remained inevitable. 

Later that floor, Minato peeked around a corner to see an ember-red shadow skulking not three meters away. They'd been forced to map the entire floor, this appeared to be the only alleyway left...so they'd have to fight it.

Minato pulled back flat against the wall. "Hold on everyone," he warned. "Danger incoming."

He burst around the corner, arm swinging in an aggressive backhand slash. The monster sensed him almost immediately and gleefully surged towards his blade.

Blackness spilled out of the ground in front of them. It coalesced into a masked figure on a tall, liveried horse. 

Fuuka breathed as they formed up for battle. "A strong enemy..." 

"Fuuka, full analysis," commanded Minato.

"Got it! I'll scan the target."

He sized up the enemy. He had no assumptions or history to go on here, no reason to guess one weakness over another. He hefted his evoker and went with a defensive move. 

Pulling the trigger, he yelled "Quetzalcoatl!" A winged serpent roared forth from his mind, jaws agape. Minato demanded Marakukaja and a warm, snug sensation enveloped him, raising defense across the party.

Aigis followed with Fatal End, fists clenching at her sides. Palladion rushed forward, slicing through the horseman, but he barely flinched.

"Slash attacks, ineffective," she announced regretfully.

Akihiko pulled out his evoker. "Alright then, Zionga!"

Lightning arced down from the sky, funneling into the top of the fighter's lance. ...But instead of cringing, the shadow sat up straighter, brandishing the lance at arm's length.

Fuuka gasped down the channel. "That healed him — Electricity drains!"

On the heels of her warning, the knight's horse reared up, head tossing and feet kicking. A visible Heat Wave burst out from the shadow, expanding to strike the party. The damage was fairly minor, but Yukari cast a Media to top them back up.

Fuuka popped back into his mind. "The Champion Knight is weak to Garu skills!"

Minato grinned. Red shadow or not, this was so easy he wouldn't even have to change personas. "Garudyne!" he yelled triumphantly.

Green magic surged through the knight, knocking him back in the saddle and sending his disembodied shoulder pads flying. 

"Let us commence with an All-Out Attack," called Aigis. She was clearly eager to get some swings in, in case the monster was resistant to all her normal attacks.

"Agreed," cried Minato, raising his sword and leading the charge inward.

One pile-on wasn't enough to take out a red shadow, but they surely had it in the bag. Two null turns from the melee-oriented members of the team, and then Yukari could finish it up.

Akihiko shook his head as he jumped back, his punch turning out as weak as Palladion's slashing attacks. 

"Alright, Yukari," said Minato, turning towards the smiling girl, "take us home."

She pulled out her evoker, staring it down like she always did, but before she could cast, a flash of static jolted the air around them.

"Zionga!" Fuuka burst in, her voice rushing into the sound vacuum of the dissipating lightning. "Aigis!"

"Damage...sustained..." Aigis murmured as she collapsed to the floor. Her eyes fell closed and her circuits began to spark erratically. 

"Aigis!" squealed Yukari, loosening her grip on her evoker.

"No, Yukari! Cast Garu," Minato insisted. "You need to finish the fight."

Yukari's eyes flittered to him nervously, but she nodded and pulled the evoker to her head. "GARULA!" she shouted fiercely.

An explosion of dust and the shadow was eliminated, without even an All-Out Attack.

For a moment, no one moved — the only noise their panting breaths and an uncomfortable grinding noise from Aigis' direction.

Minato reached into his pocket and activated a Traesto gem. 

They materialized in the lobby, still standing in their awkward circle, Aigis still curled on the floor. She glanced up, a storm cloud developing over her head the moment she realized where they were.

The rest of the team looked up with surprise at their sudden reappearance. 

...Except Shinjiro. He sat hunched on the steps, elbows on his knees, sniffling loudly. The others were giving him a wide berth.

"Welcome back?" said Fuuka, more question than greeting.

Minato nodded in acknowledgement, and took a deep breath. All of SEES turned to look at him.

"Aragaki-senpai, I would like you to head home now and get some rest."

The boy lifted his head. A request like that would normally have led to a scuffle, but simply sitting for this length of time had taken the fight out of him. He nodded wearily.

"Please take Aigis and Yukari-chan with you."

Mitsuru arched an eyebrow at that statement, and Yukari burst into vehement protest. 

"But, I'm not tired yet, Min–"

Minato grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. 

"Minato-kun, _please_ ," she started in. "I don't want to go home!"

"You aren't tired but _they_ are," he said quietly. 

"But, I can still help," she insisted. "Just let me stay on site. You'll probably need to swap out senpai, soon."

Minato looked towards said senpai, who had unequipped his gauntlets and was tugging at the leather gloves that lived beneath.

"He's fine," Minato muttered darkly.

Yukari looked taken aback.

He closed his eyes for a moment, recentering before he lost control of the conversation. He reopened them with leadership mode fully engaged. "Thank you for the information," he said sincerely, "but right now the most helpful thing you can do for me, is to escort these two home. With bonus points if you can make Shinjiro believe he's actually in charge."

She was unconvinced. "But..."

He interrupted, "Please, Yukari. You know neither one of them will leave on their own." 

Yukari stopped at the sudden urgency in his voice. She glanced over at the others, then finally nodded. "Okay, yes, I'll do it." 

Minato smiled at her gratefully, then turned his attention to the despondent robot. She was standing now, but healing alone wasn't going to return her to fighting shape.

"I have failed you," she moaned.

"You haven't failed me," he said softly.

"I have tired out of turn and am unable to provide further support to you!"

"Maybe not in battle, but I still have an important job for you."

She looked at him sidelong. 

"Aragaki-senpai is ill and unable to fight. I need you to watch over him for the journey back to Iwatodai."

He paused a beat, sensing an opportunity. "And the rest of the night," he added hastily, angling to increase his privacy for a little while. "In fact, until he gets better. 

"No one else can do that for me, not the way that you can." 

She gave a serious nod. "I will do as you ask, and watch over Aragaki-san."

Minato nodded back, equally serious. "Just, please, keep it a secret from him. He won't like the attention and will try to push you away if he finds out."

"I will monitor him from my room," she vowed. 

Minato blinked for a second. _Exactly how much_ can _she tell from that far...?_ He slammed the door shut on that line of inquiry, as he definitively preferred not knowing the answer. 

"Thank you, Aigis." She smiled, motivated by once again having an assignment.

He stepped back to face the group. "Junpei and Mitsuru-senpai will join the team. The others are returning home." He watched the departing trio shuffle awkwardly out of the building, each under the impression that they were shepherding the others. He was usually jaded to the machinations he pulled off in his daily life, but sometimes he impressed even himself.

He turned back to the remaining threesome, and his smug pride burst like a bubble. Mitsuru had her arms crossed and was on the verge of tapping her foot angrily. 

Akihiko was pulling on his spikes, face neutral as he prepared for battle, and Junpei was oblivious, but Mitsuru might be a problem.

"Come along, everyone," he announced, not leaving her a chance to voice any suspicions. He activated the teleporter, sending them to the front lines, their current point of progress in the Tziah block. 

Upon arrival, Akihiko muttered, " _Now_ we're finally gettin' somewhere."

Minato shot him a look, paraded past him, and viciously stabbed the nearest monster in the back. 

The going wasn't easy. The shadows had a level advantage and even playing defensively, they had to heal up after every battle.

Still, he couldn't help prodding Akihiko to be more aggressive, encouraging him to go on full assault and trigger knockdowns whenever possible. It was a bit risky, but it did help them kill a _little_ faster...

A couple floors in, Mitsuru cornered him away from the others, laying a hand on his forearm.

"I'm not sure about your agenda here, Arisato," she murmured, "but I hope you aren't, _risking_ anything for personal motivations..." She trailed off, raised eyebrows turning it into a question.

Minato resisted yanking his arm away — overreacting would not reassure her. He aimed for ingenuousness instead. "No, of course not," he said. "I think we're doing quite well tonight, especially against such powerful shadows."

She nodded faintly. "Of course. Agreed." She didn't seem to have another tack in reserve, and instead let the topic drop. 

In defiance, he sent Akihiko headfirst into the next pack of monsters, and the next. The third time he asked, the boy looked at him for an extra second before calling down a Zionga. The Visceral Maya fell writhing to the ground. 

Minato pointed at the next one. "Again." Another knockdown. "Again." All the enemies were now on the ground.

Akihiko waited. 

"So, it's time for an all-out attack, yeah?" ventured Junpei.

"Indeed," said Minato. Akihiko glanced at him again, a second too long, then launched himself at the squirming Mayas, initiating the group brawl. 

After the smoke cleared, Minato gave him a curt nod of approval and sauntered off in search of another shadow. 

Things were quiet for the rest of the floor. The shadows were falling more quickly now, though the team was burning through spirit points at an alarming rate.

The leader in him wondered whether they could reach the next guardian level before running out of resources...but the frustrated, horny boy was distracted watching Akihiko experience a taste his own medicine. He knew Akihiko had to be reaching the end of his energy — unlike Minato, he hadn't been pacing himself throughout the evening. 

Minato's sadistic enjoyment kicked up a notch when they reached the next floor. 

One fight in, Fuuka's voice broadcast into their minds, tinged with concern. "This has been a long night... Akihiko-senpai seems tired."

It was the moment he'd been waiting for. Minato turned around slowly, to find Akihiko straightening up from a bent position, hands still on knees. He couldn't suppress the grin that broke across his face, not for ten million yen.

"What's wrong, senpai?" His voice rang out clearly, sweet and sour all at once. "I was hoping you'd last longer than _this_." 

Akihiko froze, his body more still than Minato had ever seen it. His head didn't move as his eyes slowly slid to Minato. It then tipped downward, once, in an almost imperceptible nod of recognition, acknowledging he followed what was going on. 

"Arisato!" Mitsuru was outraged. "If Akihiko is tired, he's _allowed_ to go home. We don't...heckle people into fighting longer!" 

"No, Mitsuru, it's fine." Akihiko swiped at the corner of his mouth, glove and flesh and spiked gauntlet muffling his voice for a moment. He moved the hand away, becoming louder again. "I want to stay." 

Mitsuru looked unconvinced, but relented. They all faced off down the hallway, towards the next shadow. Shooting a quick glance at Minato, Akihiko took a couple running steps and drove a fist into the back of the blob, getting the first strike.

Mitsuru shrieked his name as the battle initiated. " _What_ are you _doing_?" 

Akihiko didn't answer, instead shaking out his arm and pile-driving a punch into the nearest of the Liberating Idols.

"It's alright," said Minato. "I don't mind."

Mitsuru shot an incredulous look towards Junpei. He shrugged helplessly, acknowledging her reaction to the situation, but still took his turn, squaring off against the same idol and eliminating it with a deep slashing swing.

Minato glanced at both the boys, calculating rapidly in his head. They'd both used physical strikes, which personas did he have on hand... 

"Lakshmi!" he shouted, brandishing his evoker. "Mabufula!" 

She twirled above his head in an arabesque spin and rained ice down upon the battlefield. As the snowflakes cleared, the remaining demons poofed out of existence. 

Mitsuru sighed in exasperation.

For the rest of the floor, they traded off first strike responsibilities, trailed by a confused Junpei and a cross but increasingly resigned Mitsuru. 

"Polydeuces!" yelled Akihiko, calling down Zionga to finish off a Regal Mother. His voice was starting to go ragged; Minato was surprised he was still shouting his summons.

The next shadow was Minato's. It was the last one on the floor, he could see the red carpet of the staircase pick up just around the corner.

He hefted his spear. It was new, and strong. He'd lifted it from a chest on the previous floor, and without Ken around, he'd equipped it to give the group a piercing attack. The weapon was excellent, but he was still getting used to the balance.

He adjusted his stance, and with a running leap, slammed it into the back of the shadow.

Minato smirked as he pulled the spear back and the shadow's buddies swarmed up to them. He was cleaning up in the "first advantages" race, and wasn't above feeling smug about it, whether or not he had more experience at it than Akihiko. 

Akihiko passed behind him en route to his position. "Nice thrust," he muttered when just behind him, where no one else could hear. "Didn't think you had it in you." 

Minato's head shot towards him. He could see the fatigue weighing down Akihiko's shoulders, but the other boy didn't seem to feel it — his baiting grin was wide and challenging. 

Minato's eyes narrowed. Akihiko was throwing down on his turf and–

"Minato!" screamed Junpei. 

Minato spun forward again, but the discordant elastic twang of a Mudo spell was already reverberating through him. He recognized the unpleasant twist in his chest, the death spasm of a sacrificed homunculus. 

The spell would have landed. A fairly common occurrence, but a rush of unexpected anger flared through him. His eyes lasered into the creature before him.

"Fuuka!" he roared. "Analyze!"

For a moment static crackled in his head. "The Death Seeker is weak to light, use Hama skills!"

Minato's lips curled into a deadly grin. "Persona!" he cried out. Dominion burst from his head and leveled its scales above the battlefield, hovering ominously in wait.

The grin widened. "Hamaon." His voice alone was nearly lethal.

The Death Seeker exploded into its true form when attacked, the ugly reality visible for a second before it dissolved into light, fading out alongside the Justice persona. 

Fuuka was cheering him on but Minato barely noticed. His evoker flashed as he turned on the second Death Seeker, Dominion so in sync with its commander that Hamaon was already descending by the time it emerged. 

Minato blinked against the afterimage of the light spell, a dark outline of floating eyeballs superimposed over his vision. 

The others were staring at him. 

"What?" he demanded. "They tried to kill me."

"Arisato," began Mitsuru in a delicate tone, "perhaps it would be a good idea to retire for the evening." 

"Yeah, man," Junpei added with forced casualness. "School tomorrow, and all that..."

Minato turned to the final team member with eyebrows raised. 

Akihiko looked weirdly torn, and Minato felt a surge of pride at having unsettled him, even momentarily. 

Akihiko glanced over at Mitsuru. Minato wondered if he'd side with the others — Akihiko certainly had the most to gain by escaping for the night. She lifted her eyebrows at him impatiently. 

His eyes shifted back to Minato, and they _sparkled_. 

"Do it again," he breathed. 

Mitsuru huffed in disgust. 

"Senpai," hissed Junpei, "don't encourage him!" 

Minato turned the eyebrow back on him, causing Junpei to fall back with an _eep_. "Next floor, now," he commanded, marching into the next room and straight up the staircase. 

He waited at the top of the stairs. Akihiko, unsurprisingly, was the first to arrive. Mitsuru and Junpei were still on the previous level, conferring with hushed voices and emphatic gestures. 

Akihiko leaned himself against the wall, still grinning like a maniac.

"You know you'll have to end this, right?" Minato asked neutrally, picking lint from his uniform. "We're not stopping until you do."

He looked up at the other boy. "And as your leader, I'd prefer you do that _before_ the point of collapse."

Akihiko beamed even harder. "Yeah, I'd figured that out." 

He dragged his arm across his forehead. "I got another floor in me I think." 

Minato shrugged indifferently and leaned forward to bellow down the stairs. "Come on, let's clear the next floor while you decide whether to court martial me." 

When he stood back up, Akihiko was glowing at him. He honestly looked like he might burst into giggles. Minato rolled his eyes and gripped his spear, looking around for the first shadow on the floor. 

"Going hysterical counts as tapping out," he shot back over his shoulder. "Just so you know." 

"Noted, _sir_ ," came the reply, voice suddenly tuned in, a mix of respect and fully insouciant obedience.

Minato's own reserves were dwindling too — because for a moment his defenses faltered, and he nearly launched himself at Akihiko to try and kiss those ever-mocking lips straight off his face.

He closed his eyes and resummoned his mental armor, the calculating exterior he wore on the battlefield. 

When he opened them again, Akihiko's giddy expression had that manipulative glint in it again, which made it easier to remember why he was doing this, what he was trying to prove. Also, Junpei and Mitsuru had deigned to join them. 

"Your turn," said Minato, gesturing Akihiko forward with his head, towards the shadow further down the hall. "And to appease the rest of you," he addressed the others without turning to face them, "I'm offering a deal." 

Mitsuru sighed loudly, before the offer was even made. Minato suspected she might refuse to run with this trio ever again. 

"We keep alternating first strike. If I fail to gain initiative, we go home."

"And what if Akihiko-senpai misses?" asked Junpei.

Minato's smile went predatory. "He has to live with his failure. And finish the fight, _without an advantage,_ " he enunciated crisply.

"...But that's like, a normal fight," protested Junpei. 

"Is it?" observed Minato, with an enigmatic lilt. He turned towards Akihiko. "Do you accept?" 

"I do." His answer was almost a purr. 

"But that makes no sense," Junpei muttered, at the same time Mitsuru spat out, "Of _course_ he agrees."

She continued, "If it wasn't for Yamagishi, I'd swear this evening was a collective hallucination." She waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Except, you're all being ridiculous in the _exact ways_ I'd expect you to. So, unfortunately, I suppose this _is_ our reality."

She flipped her hair out of her face in frustration, glaring at him, but there were no real expectations behind it. 

Which was good, because she'd already been outvoted.

"You're up, Sanada."

Akihiko gave a secretive smile and squared off, intently observing the wanderings of the creature down the hall. 

Minato heard mutterings behind him. 

"Don't worry, Kirijo-senpai, I got your back. You're not hallucinating!"

"Er, thank you, Iori. Though I did know that already."

"I'll let you know if you're losing touch," he continued jauntily. 

Minato chuckled to himself. At this rate, Junpei was going to pull her ire onto himself instead. 

"Yes, fine, though that wasn't actually my point." She sighed tiredly. "Let's just please continue fighting, and maybe _one_ of you will see reason."

"I'm already seeing reason!" exclaimed Junpei. "It's _these two_ who are runnin' some kinda midnight gladiator endurance contest!" 

Minato was truly torn, between watching Akihiko size up his timing — the boy was deeply invested now that the stakes were so much higher — and enjoying the spectacle of Junpei attempting to reassure Mitsuru. 

"Junpei!!" hissed Fuuka, breaking her code of conduct to deliver a rare out-of-battle warning. 

"What?" he declared, sounding a bit defensive at her tone. "I'm bein' _supportive_!" 

With a quiet huff, Akihiko took off down the hallway, plowing into the back of the shadow. 

He'd succeeded. 

"Ohh!" gasped Fuuka, attention snapping from Junpei to the burgeoning battle. "There are three of them! Strike first!"

Akihiko was bouncing in place, fists already in position near his face. He grinned as Minato came forward to circle with the others.

They dispatched the group with relative speed, though another significant investment of spirit points. Minato had long since given up on reaching the next save point, but he didn't want their competition cut short by something so mundane as the inability to cast more spells.

"Conserve your resources, everyone," he announced, eyeballing the next monster. "We don't wanna run out before our boxing champion here is ready to send us home."

Akihiko, resting against the wall to his left, didn't say anything, but Minato could picture his grin anyway. 

"Gotcha," declared Junpei.

Mitsuru huffed. "Understood," she said. 

Minato plunged his spear into the back of the shadow's head, right where he supposed the neck would be. He was dead on.

It was a single enemy, quickly defeated. Minato smirked smugly as he gathered their winnings. "Your turn," he said, challenge dripping from his voice.

Akihiko nearly tripped over his own feet. 

He nodded and straightened up, centering his focus. As he jumped forward, the shadow began to turn, and the hit landed against its side. No advantage.

"A Mighty Cyclops," cried Fuuka, "kill it!"

The freakish creature rattled its chains and cast Mabufula over the team. Akihiko grunted as his backside hit the floor. 

"Not so fast!" Junpei exclaimed hotly. "Hermes!"

Flames licked up from the earth, snaking across the frame that suspended the monster. It jolted in shock and fell to one side. 

"Here's our chance! Let's get 'em!"

Minato nodded and the three of them piled on. After the dust cleared, the cyclops was cowering but still standing. 

"Damn, couldn't finish it off."

Mitsuru stepped forward and dispatched it with a slash of her rapier. Behind her, Akihiko sheepishly climbed to his feet, limbs dragging behind him.

"Now perhaps we can reconsider?" Mitsuru asked, looking around hopefully. 

Minato chuckled as he lined up with the next shadow.

"Of course not," she sighed. 

The spear flashed. Another perfect strike, another enemy rapidly defeated by the team. 

Minato backed up and gestured Akihiko elaborately forward.

Ignoring the goading, Akihiko stood and watched the shadow pace back and forth across the hall. His stance was awkward, the physical deterioration clearly setting in, but he was no less intent on accomplishing the goal. 

He chose his opening and took a running step forward, but in the middle of it his back foot slipped out and he tumbled forward onto his face. Minato heard a collective gasp of shock from behind him and down Fuuka's psychic link. 

Akihiko landed chest-first, cheek scraping on the ground as he slid to a stop. The shadow turned in its circuit and sighted him, surging forward on spindly black arms. It reached him before anyone else could.

As the battle began, Minato and Junpei each grabbed an elbow, hauling Akihiko to his feet.

"You okay, man??" Junpei asked urgently. 

Akihiko flushed bright red. "Yes, I'm fine." 

"You'd better get over here," warned Mitsuru. Her voice was strained as she weathered the first attack, the only person in position to fight. "They've got initiative so I can't hold them back!" 

The others ran forward — straight into a Magarula. 

Junpei yelled, "Dammit!", as he was knocked down. 

The final Flowing Sand hopped back and forth on its feet before launching a slash attack against Minato. Normally he would have been far too tired to dodge, but he felt the power of Jikokuten yank him aside, and the shadow tumbled past him onto the ground.

Fuuka cheered. "Nice job, you knocked the enemy off balance!"

Minato felt a surge of confidence. "Let's regroup," he commanded, helping Junpei clamber to his feet. 

He turned to his left. "Akihiko...?"

With difficulty, the silver-haired boy tore his glare away from the monsters. His fierce gaze resettled onto Minato. 

"Yes?" he rumbled. 

A chill raced down Minato's body and pooled in his toes. His mouth opened of its own volition, issuing words entirely different from what he'd been planning to say. 

"Go get 'em."

With a growl Akihiko shot forward, his arm rearing back. The punch rang across the arena and knocked the creature off its feet. 

"You found the enemy's weakness!" shrieked Fuuka. 

With two enemies already downed, Akihiko took the obvious next step. He turned to the third and delivered a violent uppercut. 

He watched its pinched body arc backwards to the ground, then turned back towards Minato, face aglow. Minato hefted his spear and grinned back.

"Let's do this!" yelled Junpei, and they all piled onto the hapless creatures. 

As the dust dispersed, the team found themselves facing one another, no trace of the shadows between them. The boys broke into wide smiles and even Mitsuru joined in after a moment. 

Still, despite the flush of victory, Minato noticed that Mitsuru was coughing delicately and Junpei's sword appeared to be dragging on the ground. 

Minato was so in the zone, reflexes keyed in despite the growing creep of fatigue...he knew he could keep getting first strikes for another floor or two. But it wasn't fair to punish the others like this, just to prolong his power play. Akihiko had conceded enough. It was time to end this.

He turned the corner of the corridor and stared down the next shadow, pretending to struggle with the timing. 

_Now_ , said his mind — but he waited a fraction of a second longer, letting the monster pause like a swinging pendulum and begin to reverse direction, before he loosed the spear. 

The thrust pierced its skull, right between the eyes. No advantage to either side, exactly as intended. 

Mitsuru exhaled in relief. 

"The fearless leader is defeated!" bemoaned Junpei.

Akihiko shot him a distrustful glance, unsure whether he should be suspicious. Minato shrugged graciously as the shadows gathered and jumped forward to lance one of them. 

"Final battle, make it count!" he shouted in encouragement. 

"I'll be cheering you on from here!" added Fuuka.

Everyone got a hit in this time, and then the final shadow fizzed out of existence.

"And now?" asked Mitsuru with great hope. 

Minato paused for a moment, just to drag it out. 

"Fuuka, we're coming home."

Mitsuru was too dignified to fist-pump, but she looked willing to consider it when Minato pulled a transport gem out of his pocket.

They rematerialized in the lobby. "Welcome back!" Fuuka greeted them with a wide smile.

"I, for one, am glad to be here," returned Mitsuru, with a tired but authentically grateful smile.

"Thanks, Fu-chan!" grinned Junpei. Minato had clearly made the right decision in pulling the plug, Junpei was never that informal with Fuuka.

"Um, you're welcome, Junpei-kun."

"Good work tonight, Yamagishi."

She colored. "Thank you, Sanada-senpai. You too."

"Alright," proclaimed Minato, still in leadership mode, "let's head out." He shepherded his lagging charges out of the building and back towards home.

When they arrived back at the dorm, Fuuka headed into the kitchen to make some tea before bed. The rest of them trooped up the stairs in a ragged line.

Mitsuru peeled off without a word, vanishing into the shadows of the third floor.

Junpei gave a wide yawn as he flipped open his door, one hand on the doorknob, the other waving awkwardly while still trying to cover his mouth. Minato flapped a hand in return, and heard Junpei's door click shut behind him.

He paused in his own open doorway, exhausted but still keyed up, not yet ready for the night to end. 

Akihiko was visibly wavering, wobbly on his feet with a hand wrapped around the doorframe to hold him up — but he also seemed reluctant to shut his door.

He turned back and caught Minato looking at him. Akihiko’s expression was so open, rimmed with fatigue but also relaxed, no malice or lasciviousness underlining the moment. 

Minato hesitated; one foot lingering in his commander mentality, wanting to tell Akihiko he'd done well tonight; one foot firmly grounded in their current reality, back in the dorm where Minato's best recourse was to put distance between them as quickly as possible. 

He stood there with his mouth open, watching Akihiko gaze back with a stupid, tired grin. Minato shook himself free with the faintest of laughs. 

"Goodnight," he said simply. 

Akihiko leaned his cheek against the door post, smushing his smile into something even dopier and sleepier. "Goodnight," he replied, dreamy and sleep-drunk. 

For a second Minato thought he'd have to help, that Akihiko wouldn't make it across the room to his bed, but the older boy managed to peel himself loose and close his door without shutting anything into it. 

The moment Minato's door clicked shut behind him, he leaned back against it, eyes falling shut. He let out a deep breath, as if he'd been holding it in. He supposed he probably had — he'd been performing ever since leaving this room earlier tonight. The evening had been long and tiring but he felt good about having done it. To prove he wasn't just some stooge in Akihiko's game. To prove his own strength and authority to himself, that he could rise above this hounding campaign of notes. 

As he stood thinking, his hand began to move. Methodically, without his notice. Pulling his belt open, pushing his pants to mid-thigh, settling around his length... He was gasping into his own grip before he consciously realized what was happening.

And by that point he was too far gone to stop — honestly had been for an hour already. He pictured the boy across the hall, stumbling and collapsing into his own bed. The image wasn't even sexual...except _Minato_ was the one who'd made him that way, had driven Akihiko to the brink. He felt like he'd evened the score, even if it wasn't the same brink as he'd been driven to a week ago.

A week ago... Minato had managed to go the entire week without letting himself remember it, letting himself dwell on the details of what had happened between them backstage. But now, his defenses were down, and images began flooding through him. 

Akihiko pressing him against the sofa, the wall, the desk; Akihiko's hands sliding beneath his clothing; Akihiko seducing him out of his pants. Minato's back arched, hips lifting off the door. That mouth, so warm and red, eating away at his resolve, his composure, swallowing him relentlessly. 

Minato was so on edge from the evening, nerves wound tight from sparring with Akihiko all night, that it wasn't going to take long. He could already feel his balls drawing up, his hand jerking faster and faster. He pictured Akihiko right there at his feet, swallowing him again, for real this time, Minato thrusting at his face and Akihiko wearing that dazed look of wonder, same as last Saturday, like it was the best gift he'd ever received. 

And like that Minato was finished. His head jammed crookedly against the door, neck twisted, face grimacing, hips straining forward as he pulsed and pulsed and pulsed. He collapsed back against the wood with a thump, heart pounding. 

His eyes slid downward as he tried to catch his breath, staring with mild horror at the sticky mess he'd made. 

This...could be a problem.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Minato stood brushing his teeth and tried not to drool on himself. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck, or an overnight flu. Or maybe a truck smeared with infectious flu germs. All he knew was that his entire body ached, and he didn't quite have proper control over any of his extremities. Even keeping his fingers curled in proper position to guide the brush felt like a contortion.

He bent over to rinse and nearly pitched headfirst into the basin. Okay, so his balance had taken off alongside his motor control. 

He stayed there, resting his head against the cool metal of the faucet, until the world agreed to right itself around him. After a minute the spinning began to ebb away and he gently stood up, worried the vertigo could come back any moment. 

God, he was a mess. Even his toes hurt right now. He'd had some rough mornings after Tartarus runs before, but nothing like this, with his body in rebellion against existing.

He slumped against the front of the sink and considered himself in the mirror. He supposed he'd never had a Tartarus run like that either... 

A furtive smile snuck onto his face. He'd actually done it. Despite leaping off the handle into a half-baked scheme, he'd actually outwitted Akihiko. Beaten at his own game, _by his own rules_. Minato almost broke into a giddy little dance in recognition of his achievement. 

Because it was a miracle that everything had worked out. All those pieces to fall into place — Shinjiro neutralized, Mitsuru holding her questions until late in the evening, Yukari and Aigis agreeing to return home... In the face of that _accomplishment_ , it was easy to write off his own little slip-up at the end of the night.

He basked for a moment in the success of his parting blow — for this surely would be the end of all this...whatever, between them. Last night had clearly proven the danger of letting it proceed any further. An escalating war of brinksmanship would drag the entire team into their affair, distract everyone from the greater purpose at a vital point in time...and embarrass the hell out of them, if their public interactions went any further than they had last night.

No, he'd stabbed back so effectively, Akihiko had to understand the score and agree to back off.

Minato shoved up from the sink ledge and lurched stiffly across the room, legs creaking with each step. He wondered how the other boy was doing this morning. Hopefully worse than Minato was, but with that fitness regimen of his, who knew. 

He yanked the closet door open, eyes closing in bliss as it blocked out the harsh overhead light. 

Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. His smirking nemesis could be doing jumping jacks in the hallway right now — it wouldn't change the fact that _Minato had won_. And if he'd burned Akihiko down once, he could do it again.

He nodded, with eyes still shut — and nearly impaled himself on a hanger.

He groaned a sigh, rubbing at the sore spot dangerously close to his eye socket. 

Yes, he could do it again... Just as soon as he could coordinate himself enough to make it out of the room.

~o~o~o~o~o~

By the time Minato was dressed for school, he felt a bit more human. The air in the corridor was refreshingly chilly, and as he trotted down the main stairs, he began to smell food cooking...eggs possibly? His stomach rumbled desperately.

Yukari's familiar, threatening voice floated up the stairwell, stopping him in his tracks. "Junpei, if you're making this up..."

"'Uh th'wear to yuh!" Dishware clanked against the table and Junpei's words became clearer. "They were like, telecommunicating or somethin'. I don't know what's going on, but _senpai_ was starting the fights."

"Weird..." breathed Yukari. "He's never let anyone do that."

"It came out of nowhere. We were standin' around between fights, then Akihiko ran off and suckerpunched a shadow — and all Minato did was shrug! I thought Mitsuru-senpai was gonna _flip her lid_."

Yukari giggled. "I can imagine."

"And it went on forever! They took turns hittin' shadows for the entire floor, glarin' at each other like it was some sorta contest and Mitsuru and I were just along for the ride. And _then_ Minato went all scary vengeful BADASS on this thing that tried to Mudo him. Mitsuru almost pulled rank over that and dragged us home."

"Really??"

"But I pointed out that the two of them weren't going to leave even if we did, so we had to stay and keep helping."

"Man," Yukari smacked the table lightly with her palms, "all I got was the robot and the sick boy. Nothing remotely exciting happened to us — though we almost had to carry him the last block after he had a coughing fit. Thank goodness he's skinny under that coat."

Minato slid another step lower, drawn forward by his body, screaming at the thought of a hot breakfast regardless of the scrutiny that would come with it. 

He tried to take another step and slipped off the front edge of it, stumbling down the remaining two ledges and landing hard at the bottom. 

The gossip in the dining room fell abruptly silent. 

Minato shrugged over his blown cover, back where they couldn't see him. He strolled forward, gamely hoping he'd at least get some leftovers out of this.

"Um, good morning," stuttered Yukari. Her eyes were blown wide with nervousness, completely failing to be subtle over Minato literally stumbling into their conversation.

"Mornin'," echoed Junpei. He ducked his head to stuff in another mouthful, refusing to make eye contact.

Minato dispensed with the greetings. "Is there any more of that?" 

"Oh! Yes," said Yukari, popping to her feet and nearly tripping towards the counter behind them. She picked up an empty bowl and started rambling as she filled it. "This morning I thought, you know, Aragaki-senpai could really use a good meal, so I started making some rice, then Junpei showed up, early _for once_ , and he offered to cook some eggs, and so we decided to make a whole bunch since it sounds like we all had a tough night." She broke off as she arrived back at the table, almost out of breath from talking too fast. "So, yeah, there's plenty for everyone." She shoved the bowl towards Minato and plopped back into her seat with slightly flushed cheeks. 

Minato nodded, as if that entire outburst had been relevant information, and dropped into a chair. The food had all his attention anyway. It was so basic yet it smelled amazing, and if his fingers couldn't maneuver the chopsticks, he was going to eat with his bare hands.

Still, he noticed when Junpei gave him a shifty sidelong glance in between bites.

As the only person not facedown in a breakfast bowl, it fell to Yukari to fill the silence. "So," she began, fingers twisting awkwardly on the table in front of her. "Did you...sleep well, Minato-kun?"

Minato gazed flatly at her while he finished chewing. Was she going somewhere with that question? 

"Yes, fine," he answered. 

"That's good," she said, tucking hair behind her ears with an uncharacteristic edginess. "I, heard you guys stayed late last night?"

Minato looked at Junpei. 

"It's true!" he blurted, jumping straight to defensiveness. 

"It is true," Minato agreed placidly. He nabbed Junpei's water cup to steal a sip. "The Tziah block is hard going," he directed at Yukari. "I wanted us to make some headway."

"You went up there, after all the time we spent in Yabbashah?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

Minato shrugged and kept eating. 

"Wow, that's ambitious," Yukari continued. "That late at night, with no one in reserve!"

Junpei gruffed an indeterminate noise into his bowl.

Minato shrugged again, though the back of his neck was starting to tighten. For the moment Yukari looked impressed, but this conversation might be headed in a dangerous direction.

"Well, did you?" she asked. "Make any progress."

Minato finished his mouthful. "Some."

Junpei snorted to himself. "Oh, sure," he muttered, in the direction of the tabletop. " _Some._

"If by 'progress'," he started accelerating in volume, "you mean running out of SP in five floors, _not_ reaching the next guardian level, and," he peaked in a near shout, "nearly getting our asses kicked six ways to Sunday!"

He dropped back to a normal speaking voice, dripping with sarcasm. "If so, we made all _sorts_ of progress."

The others turned towards him in shock. Junpei could be many things, but snarky was rarely one of them. Even Junpei looked startled by his outpouring of bitterness, but he lifted his head, standing by the statement. 

Minato's back stiffened. "Are you questioning my leadership choices?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from going quite so hard and quiet.

"No!" Junpei vehemently shook his head. "I'm not. It's just..." He fell silent, hands wiggling as he looked for the words. "That, well..."

He leaned forward, grabbing onto the table edge, eyes wide and imploring. "Dude, you're not making any sense."

He flopped back into his seat, already spent, not bothering to wait for a response. "Not that you ever explain what you're doing..." He tossed a hand dismissively. "Why you hang out with 18 different people, or what's going _on_ when you lose touch with reality for 30 seconds after every fight." His hand slapped like a gavel, concussion echoing off the dining room walls. "There might be a lot about you that's not explainable, but at least it's _consistent_."

He lifted his eyes, staring Minato in the face again. "So, if _this_ ," he waved frantically at their surroundings, "is our baseline, think what it means when I say: Last. Night. Was. Weird."

Minato suppressed a sigh. He'd expected trouble from Yukari, that she'd start digging once her curiosity overcame her desire to be polite. But Junpei had looked guilty for even talking about it...and now he'd ripped the entire topic bare!

Either way, Minato didn't have the energy for this. He grimly shoveled in another bite, to give the grinding gears in his brain some time to form a response. He surveyed the two in front of him, Yukari with round eyes, glancing rapidly back and forth between the two boys, Junpei still sprawled against the seat back, exasperated and at the end of his mental rope.

His stomach twisted, entirely unrelated to the food. Everyone was worn out today, and it was all Minato's fault. His little vendetta had exhausted them with absolutely no benefit to the team, and he felt a horrible pang of guilt for that.

A pang that grew to monstrous proportions when he realized what he was about to do. 

He pulled on a contemplative expression and swallowed his mouthful. "Yes, I probably pushed us too hard last night. It was too late to start working on Tziah... We should have gone there first, but I can't change that now. 

"We'll take some time off this week, to make sure nobody gets sick — or, any sicker than they already are."

Yukari squinted in confusion, while a storm cloud of suspicion gathered on Junpei's brow.

"And?" he asked leadingly. 

Minato gave a loose shrug. "And I'll be more careful in the future, to not tire everyone out so much." 

Junpei sat bolt upright. "That's not it at all! _You_ got so ticked at those eyeball things you nearly exploded, and, and Akihiko-senpai was like, punching stuff!" 

"Yes, he does that," Minato observed drily. 

" _Not normal punching!_ " erupted Junpei. 

Minato shrugged again. 

"NO," Junpei insisted, "it was all weird!" He smacked a hand on the table. "You started a bet with stakes that made no sense!"

"Okay, so we were competing." Minato had to give the boy something; Junpei was supposed to get confused and drop the subject, not start to question his own sanity. "He was giving me crap earlier, so I challenged him to do it better. He was good enough at starting the fights, I didn't think it would hurt anything."

"Hurt anything?! You wouldn't stop, even though you were both dead on your feet! Mitsuru-senpai almost had an aneurysm!!"

Minato sniffed. "I hardly think she'd appreciate that description." 

Junpei growled in frustration, hands gripping onto his hat like he planned to rip it in half while still wearing it. 

Footsteps came down the stairs behind them. Junpei whirled about in his seat, shrieking "FUUKA!" the moment a flash of teal came into view. 

She cringed back towards the bathroom doors. "Yes??" 

"TELL them," he pleaded.

"T-tell them what, Junpei-kun?"

"How insane last night was!"

She glanced around the table before speaking, hesitantly. "Well, that last fight was pretty scary — when both Akihiko-senpai and Junpei-kun got knocked down, and Mitsuru-senpai was fighting the shadows alone at first."

"No, before that! How everything went crazy!" 

She bit her lip. "I...know that Akihiko-senpai was making some of the initial attacks."

"Yes," he gestured in encouragement, "weren't they acting strange all night?" 

"Junpei-kun..." she said delicately. "I can sense a lot of things when you're in Tartarus, but I can't actually _see_ you."

His face fell the littlest bit. "And you didn't sense Minato pushing senpai to be reckless?"

She shook her head in apology. "I heard him giving orders like usual, that's all."

Junpei stood there a moment, shoulders slumped. Without looking up, he glumly waved a hand and returned to his seat. "It's okay. We made breakfast, you should have some."

All the fight had drained out of him in an instant. He listlessly began eating again, and Yukari and Fuuka shared a look of concern. 

Alongside the crushing guilt, Minato found himself wondering how Junpei had managed to find the biggest dish in the house. That thing must be a serving bowl, that he still hadn't reached the bottom of it.

But Minato had reached the bottom of _his_ bowl, and after how fantastically well the conversation with Fuuka had gone, his luck was sure to plunge any moment, for karmic reasons if nothing else. Time to leave on a high note.

He pushed his chair back. "Thanks for making breakfast, you guys, it was great. I'll help wash the dishes tonight, but I have to get going now." 

He briefly laid a hand on Junpei's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man."

Junpei muttered something morose and didn't look up. 

He nodded towards the girls, "Yukari, Fuuka, have a nice day." 

He left them there, in their strange tableau of sadness, and walked out of the building. 

Outside, the morning was incongruously beautiful. The rising autumn sun sent rich amber shafts of light between the buildings, illuminating the pavement in front of him. He was walking a path of golden light, in terrible contrast to his souring mood. 

He told himself he'd done what he had to do. 

He didn't _want_ to lie, to dismiss Junpei's entirely true account — but with Yukari there, the story would've taken on a life of its own, disseminating through the dorm on the winds of her habitual chatter. 

It had to be downplayed, or else someone would start asking the wrong (or right!) questions. And he couldn't let them start wondering about last night, why he and Akihiko were acting differently. 

The selfish motivations in hiding this were obvious, but it was also about protecting SEES. The team couldn't suffer that distraction, not now, not when they were so close to the end. A whisper campaign putting cracks in the facade of his leadership, generating doubts however unspoken. Minato didn't particularly _like_ being in charge, but this wasn't the time to put everyone through a regime change. 

He had to hold on just a little bit longer. A few more Arcana shadows and he could stop pretending, go back to being fallible and human again. The kind of person who'd put his team at risk to settle a feud.

The kind of person who'd sell out his best friend to cover up his own poor decisions.

He sighed in shame and regret. 

...The kind of person who'd do it all again if he could get away with it.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Minato stumbled through his day in a haze, both physical and emotional. His body kept snapping offline at inopportune moments — while putting on his school slippers, almost tipping him sideways into the cabinets; in the middle of note-taking, causing his sentence to trail off in a wobbly line...he almost dozed off while using the urinal! And all the lessons were blurring together. He swore Ms. Miyahara had been talking about protons and molecules, which _should_ be impossible... Though knowing her, maybe that _was_ real, some sort of extended metaphor about how the universe is made of math.

The only thing he recalled for sure was the echoing silence when Junpei arrived and sat down at his desk, and again at mid-morning break, the hurt expression on his face as he pointedly turned away. 

But to Minato's surprise, Junpei leaned towards him at lunchtime, tossing a travel container onto his desk. 

"Yukari made me bring the leftovers from this morning. For _both_ of us." He half-spat the last part. "So, there ya go." 

Minato blinked in shock, still running slow on the uptake.

Junpei sniffed disapprovingly. "Why, thank you Junpei," he sang in a squeaky Minato impression. "How kind of you to bring me food I in no way deserve!"

Minato raised guilty eyes to Junpei's face. 

"You could express your gratitude by apologizing for being a _jackass_!" Junpei's voice dove into a hiss, trying to keep their business private beneath the lunchtime din. 

Minato swallowed, summoning his voice, begging it to come out sincere. "I'm sorry for being a jackass," he said quietly. 

Junpei did a double take as Minato's reply registered. He harrumphed enigmatically and popped open his own lunch container. 

He glanced sidelong as he pulled out his chopsticks. "So we're clear, then. That this morning was you. Being a jackass." 

Minato nodded miserably. 

"That I'm not a LIAR?" he added sharply. 

Minato froze on the verge of a cringe. His mind was spinning in useless panic, decision-making capabilities dulled by the fatigue. Was it okay to admit that? Would Junpei go tell the others to redeem himself? What if Yukari overheard? 

As the silence dragged on, Junpei's eating hand smacked onto the desk in disbelief. Oh god, he was losing him, he had to say something.

"Not lying." The reassurance leaped out of Minato's mouth. "You're not lying."

"Oh, I'm not?" Junpei's newfound sarcasm was getting quite the workout today. "That's good to hear. At least you'll _say_ it while no one _else_ is around."

Underneath the desk, Minato's fingers curled in an uneasy fist, nails digging into his palm. "You're not lying. Or crazy," he added. He spoke quietly, dropping into a mumble as the words got dangerous. "Just maybe...over-reacting?"

Junpei's eyebrows disappeared into his hat.

As the silence stretched unbearably between them, Minato tried not to squirm. Finally Junpei broke it, his voice bone-dry. "You wanna explain that?" he asked. 

"He wanted to start the fights," Minato launched into his defense, so eager it was almost a non-sequitur. 

"Is it so wrong that I let him? I mean, have you ever tried telling him what to do??"

Junpei shook his head, still skeptical.

Minato flung up his hands. "So maybe it was irresponsible, messing around in Tartarus. In _shocking_ news, I'm not perfect."

"Irresponsible?" interjected Junpei. " _Irresponsible_ is, I don't know, wearing your evoker in public. This was...something else entirely." 

His head wobbled in disbelief. "You were acting like the whole thing was a joke. As if no one could actually get hurt."

"Everyone was safe," Minato shot back, a bit defensive. "And we were still killing shadows. I don't see what the big deal is." 

Junpei's eyes went wide. "You wouldn't go _home_ ," he repeated in exasperation. "We practically had to drag you out of there!"

"I had it under control the whole time!"

Junpei scoffed. "Sure, maybe. But _senpai_ was face down on the floor."

That statement landed on him with a thud. It was true. Minato had let that happen. 

How could he justify that, as the _leader_ , letting a member of the team put himself at risk. Akihiko had literally fallen on his face in exhaustion, and Minato was still defending himself? 

He peered at Junpei through his bangs, chastened. 

Junpei rolled his eyes. "You gonna tell me again how it was all fun and games?"

"No," he replied, quietly.

Junpei looked up, startled by the sudden sincerity. "You wanna tell me what actually happened back there?"

"No?" ventured Minato.

Junpei rolled his eyes harder and turned back to his food.

"No, wait," Minato stammered, "I mean..." 

Junpei paused, hand halfway into his bowl, one eyebrow raised.

Minato bit his lip as he groped for what to say. He'd run out of clever responses and good diversions, but outright refusing to answer seemed like a bad idea.

"Well?" asked Junpei. His chopsticks tapped pointedly against the rim of the bowl.

Minato swallowed a sigh. When all else failed, tell the truth. 

Sort of.

He gave an awkward, apologetic shrug. "He's competitive, and I got carried away?" 

Junpei let out a huff of dissatisfaction and finally dug into his food. He hefted out a bite and ground through it forcefully, taking his aggravation out on his teeth. 

He took another bite, and sat observing Minato while he chomped through it. He seemed to be picking his way through something, thoughtfulness broiling under the thick layer of impatience and irritation.

Worn out from the anxiety, Minato was too tired to fidget anymore, so he just sat there and let it happen. 

After a long moment, Junpei swallowed and turned on Minato. "You can deny all you want," he started, voice low but mostly neutral. "Spin the conversation with those magic people skills of yours — but there's _something_ going on with you. 

"You've never taken Mudo as a personal insult before. You've never _encouraged_ senpai to go battle-crazy." His face turned hard. "I _know_ what I saw."

Junpei inhaled forcefully and, for a second, Hermes' fire blazed in his eyes. "I might not be in charge of this team, but I care about it just as much as you do. Which means I have the responsibility, and the _right!_ , to speak up if something's going wrong."

Minato nodded cautiously.

"So consider this your ONE warning," he spat. "I won't make you explain yourself, whatever it is you're covering up. But if you shit on me again, or do _anything_ that makes me worry about you, I'm going straight to Mitsuru-senpai."

He glared at Minato. "Got it?" 

Minato shrank like a scolded child and nodded. 

"Now," Junpei declared, growling as he straightened up, "we're gonna sit here and act like bros. Even if _you_ can't remember the meaning of the word."

He waved a disgusted hand in Minato's direction. "Just– act it out until something sticks."

Minato gazed downward, head hanging over his bowl. It really had been shitty of him to try and dismiss Junpei's story out of existence. He couldn't believe he'd been pardoned, just like that. 

Junpei looked over at him and sighed. "Stop that. You look pathetic, and that's coming from _me_."

He stuffed a bite in his mouth. "Eat your food," he ordered. 

Minato jumped and obediently dug out his own chopsticks. What a bizarre turnaround, Junpei commanding anything, but at this point Minato was beyond questioning things. By some miracle he _hadn't_ ruined his life quite yet, and since that was easily the third miracle of the day, he wasn't going to push his luck. If life was handing him truces and lunch, he'd take it.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Having Junpei's forgiveness made the rest of the day less painful — Minato's consciousness kept veering in and out all afternoon, but at least he didn't have the additional worry that his best friend now hated him. And the food had helped. God, did it help.

He wanted nothing but to drag himself home after school, but he couldn't justify skipping out on social links, not when the way he felt was entirely his own fault. But at least he could go out with Nozomi, and guarantee he'd get all the food he could handle.

After back to back beef bowls, Minato was beginning to feel human again. It seemed eating could compensate for overwork and inadequate rest, as long as he had enough of it. 

He wobbled home from his dinner date and up to his room, remembering to unlock the door this time. 

As he was flipping on the light, he heard a latch click behind him, and the back of his neck tightened. He turned around to the sight of Akihiko, frozen with one foot out his bedroom door.

To Minato's great pleasure, Akihiko looked exhausted, shadows ringing both his eyes. Fueled by his enormous dinner, Minato was feeling energetic by comparison. 

He decided to keep the upper hand, while he appeared to have it, and spoke first. 

"Hi," he said, a bit of a jaunt in his voice.

Akihiko put his feet back together. "Hi." He didn't sound...nervous, per se, but hesitant. Questioning.

"Haven't seen much of you this week." Minato had no idea what he was doing with this — certainly not making anything better — but he couldn't stop the compulsion to push just a _little_ bit. 

Akihiko peered at him for a second in disbelief, then lifted his chin and shrugged nonchalantly. "Been busy." He paused, then pointed out, "We were in Tartarus three times."

"Oh that's right, Tartarus." Minato leaned against the doorframe, crossing one leg in front of the other. "How are you feeling today, after that run last night?"

Akihiko's left hand twitched, fingers avoiding balling into a fist. "Fine." 

"That's good. I know I pushed us pretty hard."

Akihiko made a noncommittal noise, and looked away.

Minato studied his fingernails with a casual air. "Guess you might need to work on your stamina a bit. I was surprised, with all that jogging you do...but then, most people aren't used to a full night in Tartarus, like I am."

He waited a good ten seconds before raising his eyes again. He was expecting to see outrage, or affront, written on Akihiko's face, since that had hardly been a subtle jab. Akihiko _was_ examining him closely, but he looked...curious more than anything else, and his eyes shuttered the moment Minato looked up.

Minato's confidence faltered, stomach twisting like the ground had dropped out beneath him. Something was off here. This was supposed to be _him_ turning the tables on his tormenter — seizing just one opportunity to lord his victory over Akihiko. The turnabout was deserved, so why did it suddenly feel wrong?

The undercurrent of fatigue in his veins surged up, smashing the hollow shell of his energy boost, destroying his interest in gloating. There was probably some sneaky, deceptive reason why Akihiko wasn't jabbing back at him, but trying to figure it out felt like too damn much work. He sagged minutely against the doorframe, grateful for its support. 

Akihiko's face remained blank and opaque, despite the opening Minato was giving him.

Minato sighed quietly and started to turn back into his room. "Get some rest," he threw carelessly over his shoulder. "We're not going back for a couple of days."

A rapid inhale sounded behind him.

"Minato–" Akihiko started, his voice strange. It wasn't commanding, not the voice that had so affected Minato backstage — but something strangled and, weirdly...hopeful? The closest description he could come up with was _beseeching_. 

He glanced backwards. 

Behind him, those dove gray eyes were thrown open wide. Swirled with confusion, both yearning and hedges, like Akihiko was simultaneously reaching out and pulling back.

The air between them went electric — like Minato was inhaling sparks with every breath.

"Yeah?" he replied.

Akihiko looked on the verge of saying something irretrievable, lips hovering around the words.

Minato suddenly couldn't breathe, from all the ions crowding his lungs.

He felt it again — that rush from last night, the buzzing in his head, sweeping across his skin and giving him goosebumps. What it had felt like with Akihiko held willingly in the palm of his hand. That connection sparkling between them, the ability to hold a conversation in public with their eyes alone.

Though, "conversation" might be overstating it — and they weren't communicating at all right now, despite the relative privacy. Minato had no inkling what Akihiko was about to say. 

Especially not with this distraction rocketing through his head, the realization that...he'd actually enjoyed last night.

He'd gone into it planning a showdown — to draw a line in the sand, in public, as protection against future hostilities. He hadn't expected Akihiko to _cooperate_. 

To fight with him rather than against him. He hadn't expected that spark flashing between them, the charged undercurrent turning confrontation into...something else entirely.

Something he couldn't begin to understand.

And now, on the other end of it, Akihiko was standing here. Staring as if he had no idea what to make of it either.

As the silence stretched on, with Akihiko chewing his lip rather than speaking, Minato finally asked again. "Did you...need something?"

He cursed his own breathiness. Akihiko finally moved, lip quirking at some unknown irony, but his eyes flashed impossibly wider. "It's just that, you... You were–" 

He shook his head raggedly and tried again.

"I thought that–" 

He cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut and looking intently at Minato, eyes begging him to pick out the message on his own.

Minato could only raise his eyebrows helplessly — upon which Akihiko rattled his head back and forth, and abruptly broke out of his trance. 

When he glanced up again, he was wearing his usual abashed smile. "You too, okay?" he said. "Make sure you get some rest. Shouldn't push yourself too hard either."

Minato squinted at the change in demeanor.

The spell had been broken. He felt a pang of regret for that other set of words, the ones that hadn't made it past Akihiko's lips.

Akihiko pulled his door closed behind him. "Have a good night," he said in a normal, friendly tone. He nodded politely before spinning on the ball of his foot and setting off down the hall. 

Minato stuck his head into the hallway to watch him go. He didn't care that Akihiko would see if he looked back — it was worth being caught, if it could give him any answers, or even a clue. Because, what had that been about!? What was the point of interrupting Minato's departure...in order to say nothing at all?

The boxer's stride was focused, so he cleared the hallway in moments, leaving Minato scant opportunity to glean something of value. Other than the annoying fact that Akihiko owned _far_ too many pairs of flattering black pants.

Minato settled slowly back onto his heels, staring blankly out the doorway. They'd come this far, and Akihiko had just...walked away. Walked away like nothing was going on. Like it had nothing to do with him. As if moments ago, his eyes hadn't been asking every question in the world.

Minato blinked in disbelief. Nothing had changed. Twenty-four hours later, all that effort and exhaustion — and he'd gotten exactly nowhere. Standing in this same damned hallway, hemmed in by the same intractable senpai...the same impotent anger building up inside his chest. 

And no outlet on the horizon.

At least when Akihiko was being antagonistic, Minato could actively resent him. But this sudden speechlessness, the ambiguous emotional glances...how was he supposed to fight against that? How could he even make Akihiko acknowledge that he was fighting?! 

His fingers clenched tighter around the door jambs, curling into the wood. He'd won, dammit. Whether this was play fighting or real fighting or some weird race to see who could get the most sexually frustrated — it didn't matter, because last night he had indisputably _won_. And he deserved a heck of a lot more than being left, standing alone and irritated, in the smoking ruins of their conversation.

Especially since Akihiko _hadn't_ just waltzed away — he'd made everything worse and _then_ waltzed away. He made everything unsettled and electrified, forced Minato to remember his nerves singing in Tartarus, the tingling excitement of last night's face-off. Akihiko had brought up their inextricable link, the strange web of _potential_ strung between them — only to stand helpless among the possibilities, paralyzed and mute. 

Minato's lip curled. Because apparently, after all the aggressive, salacious notes, flat-out _seducing_ Minato backstage...NOW Akihiko was feeling uncertain.

Well fuck that.

Akihiko hadn't _earned_ the luxury of uncertainty. 

And he certainly didn't get to jaunt off and leave all this baggage sitting on Minato's doorstep. Minato reared back, yanking his head back into the room and slapping the door shut forcefully.

If Akihiko wanted those questions, he could have them — they'd all be waiting patiently, out there in the hall, for him to trip over on his return.

~o~o~o~o~o~

The next day was more of the same. No dreams, and no _notes_ , thank god (his power play in Tartarus seemed to have taken care of that little problem) — but the same familiar round of fatigue, hunger, boring lectures, and aggravating run-ins with his maddening, silver-haired senpai.

Minato woke up already tired. He was still running a deficit from Sunday night, and after so many months of pushing himself, it was getting harder and harder to bounce back. He staggered through his morning routine, leaving just enough time to stop and buy fancy lunches for both himself _and_ Junpei. This not only earned him brownie points against his personal debt from the day before, but also the rights to Junpei's original packed lunch, because Junpei was a stand-up guy. Double lunch turned out to be exactly as good an idea as double beef bowls had been the day before. 

His ravenous stomach mildly satisfied, Minato headed to Fashion Club that afternoon. The kimono was coming along nicely, and Bebe had said he was ready for another fitting. Which was perfect from Minato's perspective — no need to waste energy pretending to be competent with a sewing machine, he just had to stand there and act like a mannequin. 

He'd still get his daily dose of weird, ill-defined subtext...but coming from Bebe, at least it would be low stress.

Before heading downstairs, Minato went across the hall to toss some water on his face and try to perk up. In his now-habitual haze, he turned the wrong way out of the restroom, and ended up going the entirely long way to the Home Ec room. He sighed aloud as he shuffled down the back staircase. At least the laboratory hallway was usually quiet, so there was no one to see him muttering at himself.

Until he rounded the corner — to find Bebe hovering in the doorway, fan aflutter, and Akihiko striding towards him, trailing his usual stream of fangirls.

Bebe's face lit up, Akihiko's stride faltered, and Minato froze like a deer in headlights.

It must be practice day. Akihiko would be heading to the gym, and those girls surely had his schedule memorized. Minato inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to master the jump in his pulse that seemed to accompany each and every Akihiko sighting these days.

"Minato-sama!!" Bebe called excitedly, waving at him. 

Akihiko glanced briefly back at the blond boy, raising his eyebrows towards Minato as he turned forward again. He'd recovered his stride and each step was rapidly consuming the distance between them. 

Minato wrinkled his nose in irritation. He stood up straighter, pulling his hands out of his pockets, and forced his legs to start moving again.

They passed each other in the center of the hall, glaring subtle daggers across the tiles.

"Arisato," said Akihiko, addressing him with a curt nod.

"Sanada-san," returned Minato, dripping with formality.

Akihiko was a step past by this point, but shot a look back at him, lingering, head turned for precious seconds despite their mutual need for discretion. Minato pulled on a hardened expression, and waited patiently on the far side of the hall for the boxing club entourage to finish parading past. 

"Minato-sama, I am so pleased you are 'ere!" Bebe exclaimed, after the final groupie had hurried between them. Minato dropped the attitude and turned towards him with a sincere smile.

"Hi, Bebe. Time for that fitting, yeah?"

"Yes, you must see the progress I 'ave made! My uncle will 'ave no choice but to give in."

Five minutes later he was draped in layers, standing atop a bucket while Bebe fussed about, tugging on panels and muttering through the pins in his mouth.

"So, eez zat a, special friend of yours?"

It took Minato a second to realize he was being spoken to.

He blinked in confusion. "Who?"

"Zat boy in ze 'allway. 'e spoke to you in a way zat seemed, familiar."

Minato twitched uncomfortably, keenly aware of the expensive material and myriad of sharp pins that surrounded him. 

"No, no," he reassured. "He's... He's a third-year, that lives in my dorm."

"Ah, ze older man." Bebe winked knowingly.

Minato stared back in horror. 

Bebe held it a second then broke into a loud titter. "Ah, Minato-sama, I am joking."

Minato sagged minutely, trying to not wrinkle the fabric. 

"Very funny, teasing me," he scolded. 

Bebe giggled again and picked up his pincushion. He tilted his head, scrutinizing the garment. "Slide your 'ead to ze left," he instructed, hands rapidly folding and pinning. "Hai! Yes! I will change ze collar on zis side, ze pleat looks so much nicer now, no? 

Minato craned his head, trying to see the neckline while he was wearing it, and finally just nodded in agreement. 

Bebe smiled happily and began adjusting again. "I am jealous zough," he confided. 'It must be sugoi, fantastic, to live in a dorm! My 'ost family eez very nice, but zey are old. In a dorm, zere are many students, so many possible friends all around you!"

Minato nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is nice. Lots of them are in our year too, so there's always someone to study with."

"Working with tomodachi — friends — is very nice, yes. I always do better work when you are 'ere!" 

Minato smiled down at the blond head below him. "Then let's make this best kimono ever!" 

"Hai!"

Bebe grinned and bent down to work on the bottom hem. Clearly the uncle was taller than Minato, as Bebe was hemming against the bucket. 

"Oo else lives in your dorm?"

Minato swung his hands within the sleeves. "Um, I think Fuuka Yamagishi is in your class?" 

Bebe stood up and thought for a moment. "Oh yes, Yamagishi, I know of 'er. She eez always typing." He mimed with his fingers. 

Minato laughed. "That's the one."

"And it eez a co-ed dorm! 'ow avant-garde." His eyebrows waggled. 

Minato shoved lightly at Bebe's shoulder, which was almost exactly hand-height. "Stop implying things! Is that what you think of people in Nihon??" 

Bebe giggled again. "I am zorry, Minato-sama!" His hand was covering his mouth, but his eyes twinkled. He was clearly _not_ sorry. "I do not mean to inzult."

"Hmm." Minato crossed his arms petulantly, gasped as he got stabbed by a pin, and let them fall back to his sides. 

Bebe tutted. "Be careful, do not 'urt yourself." His fingers smoothed the seam back into place. "I am almost done." 

Minato nodded and stood still. Bebe knelt to work on the hem again. 

"Do zose other girls also live with you?"

"Who?"

Bebe jerked his head toward the door. "Ze girls in ze 'all."

" _Oh_ , them. No, those are — well." Minato broke off, unsure of how to phrase it politely, and how to not confuse Bebe. "Akihiko-senpai has...fangirls."

"Fangirls?"

"He's very popular. Captain of the boxing team."

"Ah. I do not follow ze sports." 

Bebe finished pinning the hem in the front and moved around to the back. "I do not know what eez a fangirl. Zey seemed excited... So, a friend that is very ureshii, happy?"

"No, a fan isn't like a friend. It's very one-sided. He barely knows those girls, but they follow him around and sigh at everything he does."

"Ah, I see. Zey are love-struck."

Minato snorted. "Well, something like that."

Bebe murmured around the pins in his mouth. "'ow sad."

Minato tried to crane his head over his shoulder. "Sad?"

"Ze fangirls do not sound very good, 'ow you say...company. It must be lonely to 'ave fans instead of friends."

Bebe stood suddenly upright. "Perhaps, Minato-sama, Akihiko-senpai is in need of a friend. Eh? Tomodachi, like you are to me."

Minato shifted his weight to the other foot, not liking where this was going. "Yeah, maybe," he said guardedly.

Bebe marched around to the front of the bucket, hands waving with inspiration. "I am zerious, Minato-sama! It 'as been subarashii — wonderful — for me to 'ave a friend 'ere in Nihon. You must do the same for your senpai!!"

Minato looked down at the urgent face peering up at him. He breathed a faint laugh. "That is really _not_ what he needs."

"And 'ow would you know? You don't know 'im, 'e only lives in your dorm!" 

"Well, I know him a little bit, and I'm not sure I wanna know him better!"

Bebe's eyes went wide. "Minato-sama!" he scolded. "'ow can you talk that way?" 

Minato sighed. "I'm sorry, Bebe, I didn't mean to yell at you." He flapped his arms, wishing he wasn't stuck on top of the bucket. "He and I...aren't really getting along. I'm mostly trying to avoid him right now." 

"So you _do_ know each other! I zought so."

Minato grimaced in agitation. "Can I get down yet? I'm feeling kinda trapped up here." 

"Yes, yes, yes. 'old on, one more pin in ze back. Zere. Let me 'old on to ze shoulders and you are done." Minato slipped down through the garment, pulling his arms carefully after his head, slithering through the pin-lined panels and down off the bucket. 

He popped free with a breath of relief and helped Bebe spread the kimono gently on the table. 

Bebe eyed him catty corner across the expanse of fabric. "Is zere anything you need to talk about, Minato-sama?"

Minato glanced back, trying to not act cornered, but not wanting to make eye contact. "No," he said shortly. He began fiddling with the seam in front of him, and Bebe didn't even scold him. "Even if what you said is true, I don't wanna be friends with him, okay?" 

Bebe nodded, eyes wide and solemn. 

"What?" demanded Minato. 

"Eetz just...zat is sad also. I want to be tomodachi with everyone."

Minato's eyes flicked closed for a second, before he made a sardonic comment on the irony of a _social link_ chastising him to have more friends. Bebe was the last person who deserved that. 

He breathed out in a huff, without opening his eyes. "I'll think about it, okay?" 

He looked over at Bebe. "I'll try to be more open." 

Bebe grinned widely. "Zat eez all I can ask for." 

"Now are you ready to go to the Sweet Shop or what, because I could really use a snack."

"Ze Sweet Shop!" Bebe clapped excitedly. "Of course, Minato-sama." 

Minato stood staring at a fixed point on the table, while Bebe bustled about gathering his things. Akihiko needed something alright, but it wasn't a friend. His hands were gripped tight onto that belief. He had to hold onto his anger, the justification for shoving Akihiko away — he needed to keep pushing Akihiko away mentally, to make sure he'd do it physically as well. But he had to wonder whether Bebe was onto something here. Akihiko _was_ pretty solitary. Even Shinjiro-senpai was still acting standoffish, despite having moved back in...there weren't many people he could label as Akihiko's friend. 

It was just that loneliness didn't seem the logical explanation to THIS set of behavior...

Bebe appeared in front of him, wearing a ridiculous poofy scarf. Broken abruptly from his ruminations, Minato couldn't stop the bark of laughter that burst out of him. 

"What!" exclaimed Bebe, a bit defensive but in on the joke. "Zis eez my new infinity scarf, I made it as a break from ze kimono. It eez Gekkoukan colors!" He pulled the material taut so the pattern of red, black, and white was visible. 

Minato nodded, trying to keep his lips from twitching. "I like it." 

Bebe looked skeptical. "Do you _really_?" 

Minato swallowed his mirth and put on a serious voice. "I didn't mean to laugh." A smile peeked through anyway. "I do like the scarf, it just surprised me." 

"Hmmm." Bebe considered the sincerity of his statement. "Well, zere are so many subarashii — magnificent — fabrics 'ere in Nihon, I 'ad to buy a little more!" He threaded his arm through Minato's and walked them out of the room. 

"If you like it so much, shall I teach you 'ow to make one?"

Minato bit his lip. "It's...awfully big. I'm not sure it would suit me."

"Ah yes," said Bebe gravely. "You can 'ide behind your 'air but not a scarf." 

"What's wrong with my hair!"

"Nozing," shrugged Bebe. "Eetz just...awfully big."

Minato pulled his arm back in outrage, mostly but not entirely faked. "And for that, _you_ are buying the chocolates today!" 

Bebe laughed loudly and the two of them burst out of the building together.

~o~o~o~o~o~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back, with some things to make you happy, and some things to make you sad.

Later that evening, Minato was hunched over his desk, literally and metaphorically beating his head against a chemistry assignment. Trying to dissolve things into other things and calculate their concentrations, and somehow ions were involved but none of his answers ever looked right... Why weren't there any brilliant mythical _scientists_ in his stable of personas? He was working plenty hard, surely he'd earned the right to have one of them take care of homework once in a while.

He groaned and flopped lower in the chair, neck cradled on the backrest so he could stare at the ceiling. His eyes traced the patterns thrown off by his desk lamp. It was only Tuesday and the week already felt eternal. Maybe he should pack it up — make it a true early night, and perhaps he wouldn't be so exhausted and hungry in the morning. He had another day to finish this problem set anyway. 

The building breathed quietly around him, peaceful in its stillness, lulling him further towards sleep. To keep from drifting off, he focused in on that eternally barking dog, rattling on in the distance like usual. He made a note to ask Koromaru-via-Aigis what on earth that creature was so worked up about.

He rattled his head violently. Random thoughts weren't going to cut it, he needed to move while he was still awake. He stood up, pushing the chair back with his butt, arms rising up and out like a tree. He popped his shoulders at the end of the stretch and started stacking his papers back into his notebook. 

And at that point, he heard a click behind him. A click that sounded suspiciously like the latch on his door. He whirled around furiously, to find out who was coming into his room without knoc–

There stood Akihiko, _inside_ the room. His hand was still on the doorknob. That sound had been the door closing behind him, not the door opening. 

Minato saw red, sleepiness instantly forgotten.

"What the HELL are you doing in here?"

Akihiko looked unsure for a moment, like he'd been caught off-guard — which was absurd, because _he_ was the one who'd pranced into Minato's room, as if he had permission.

A look of determination settled onto Akihiko's face. "I think we should talk."

"In words this time?" Minato asked acidly. "Or are you just here to drop off another _note_?"

Akihiko stared back at him, as if that taunt had also been unexpected. He pursed his lips. "No, I'm not bringing a note." 

Minato folded his arms. "Well, I'm not sure I wanna listen to _your words_. No matter how they're arriving."

"Minato," Akihiko started in, taking a half step forward, "this is important, we can't just keep–"

"NO," interrupted Minato. " _We_ ," he gestured back and forth between them, "don't have to do anything.

" _I_ probably shouldn't listen to a word you say, and I should probably kick you out right this very second!"

"And then do what, Minato?" Akihiko threw his hands in exasperation. "Go back to avoiding me, pretending I don't exist?"

"Would that I could," Minato replied coldly.

Akihiko took a careful breath. "Look, I get that you're frustrated, I'm frustrated too."

Minato burst back in. "Frustrated?! This is beyond frustration. I'm being _harassed_!"

Akihiko looked at him skeptically. "Right now, this very second?"

"Yes, right now! You just broke into my room!"

Akihiko looked back at the door. "Right. Er, sorry about that." He spun forward again. "But I didn't think you'd let me in otherwise!"

"And you were right! Which is why I'm mad you're here anyway!" Minato shook his head in disbelief. "Do I have to start locking the door even when I'm home??"

Akihiko brushed off the question. "I came here to talk, not have a fight with you."

"Oops then, you failed, guess you'd better _leave_."

Akihiko shook his head calmly, refusing to rise to the bait. "You can't make this go away by ignoring me."

"Watch me," pronounced Minato, pointing him towards the door.

"No," Akihiko declared. "I'm not leaving until we get a few things straight." 

"I'm sorry to inform you," Minato said snidely, "but straight is probably the last thing you are." 

Akihiko shot him an incredulous look. "Is that seriously what you're going with?" 

Minato crossed his arms petulantly. It had been a pretty dumb line, but he was fired up and the conversation was moving really fast — and somehow all his previous instinctive responses had worked out a lot better than that one.

Akihiko leaned forward. "Straight is the last thing _we_ are."

Minato responded with a furious blush. "This," he gestured frantically between them, "is not a _we_. It's not an anything.

"It's nothing more than a couple days of weirdness," he enunciated through clenched teeth, fingers curling in emphasis, "that will remain unexplored and forgotten, due to our mutual agreement to _not speak of it again_."

Minato turned and pointed forcefully towards the door. "Which will be enforced by YOUR LEAVING!" 

The other boy gazed back, unmoved. "No." 

"No?" squawked Minato. He hated how screechy his voice got when he was this angry. 

Akihiko clenched a fist. "No."

Minato hit overload, speechless with fury. He spluttered at Akihiko for several seconds.

"You're just being stubborn, now," he finally spat out. "What are we even arguing about?!"

He shoved his bangs out of his face, huffing from outrage and frustration, and leveled his gaze on Akihiko. 

"You're only fighting me," he accused, "because I turned the tables on you."

That one got a reaction. " _When_?" demanded Akihiko. 

"In Tartarus," Minato said smugly. 

"In Tartarus??" Akihiko laughed. "You may have surprised me, but it didn't _change_ anything."

"Except that you did what I said, all night," Minato replied scornfully. 

"You're the team lead, of course I did!" Akihiko protested, his voice rising. 

"And you accepted the terms of my bet!" 

"A bet you _cheated_ on!" Akihiko practically shrieked. "I saw you intentionally miss that shot!"

"I cheated to lose! I couldn't let the team keep suffering over _our_ argument!"

"Well that was a good decision, but it doesn't mean you changed anything between us!"

A momentary silence fell over the room, both parties glaring angrily towards each other. 

Minato let out a long exhale.

"Okay, _Akihiko_ ," he began again, quieter but strained. "If nothing has changed, then what exactly is the status of things between us?" 

Akihiko took a step forward, inhaling swiftly.

"Ah..." Minato held up a hand. "From over there."

The other boy stopped, gray eyes blazing. "The _status_ ," he growled, "is that YOU haven't forgotten. Just like I said would happen."

Minato's eyes narrowed. " _You_ were supposed to leave it behind," he returned with an acrimonious bite. "We both agreed–"

Akihiko scoffed darkly. "I never agreed to anything." His voice rumbled low in his throat. " _I_ said the agreement was irrelevant, because you wouldn't get past it."

He looked straight at Minato. "And I was right."

Minato fought down a shiver, and threw an aggressive front up instead. "And how would you know that?"

Akihiko took one step, half towards him, half diagonal into the room. "I _saw_ you. There on the landing, outside the showers."

Minato cursed his uncontrollable guilty flush. 

"Your body language was screaming at me... Every line on your face, every hunch of your shoulders." 

Minato shot back, "Didn't give you the right to go back on your word and start writing those _notes_."

Akihiko stared back pointedly. "Doesn't mean they were wrong."

Minato scowled and stood up straighter. "They're wrong _now_."

"Oh?" Akihiko paused, looking at him with great intrigue.

"I see..." he mused aloud. He began pacing along the side wall in slow, measured steps. "You've turned it all off, have you?"

He spun around, hands gesturing in sarcastic apology. "Presuming it was ever...turned on, of course."

Minato made a sour face, but Akihiko had already resumed pacing. 

"You're saying that the notes no longer affect you.

"That you haven't, _pictured_ me, here," his hand caressed the top of the bedpost, "on your bed.

"At least, not for _days_ now."

He turned back towards Minato. "Is that right?" 

Minato felt the heat creeping up his neck, not a temporary blush but something much deeper. He swallowed it down and raised his chin. "Yes."

Akihiko shrugged. "That's too bad, then. I was looking forward to _trading stories._ " He moved along the front edge of the bed, knees dipping to trail his fingertips along the comforter. "Tell you what I've been thinking about the past week or so." 

He looked up. "But I guess you wouldn't like that." 

Minato didn't trust his voice right that second; he barely trusted his shoulders not to tremble. He shook his head no. 

Akihiko nodded with regret. His hand rested on the footboard for a moment. " _Really_ too bad," he reiterated. His gaze traced up the length of the bed, lingering, with god only knew what image in his mind. 

Minato shuddered, once, while Akihiko's head was still turned and he presumably couldn't see.

"Still," he turned back with a light shrug, "I'll survive. I have a, very good imagination."

He stepped towards the desk, quicker than Minato was ready for. Minato took a step back, trying to preserve the distance between them, but Akihiko stopped as abruptly as he'd started. He tilted his head and smiled, oddly bright. 

"Now, all I need from _you_ , is some proof."

Minato squinted. 

"Some _what_?" he asked sharply.

Akihiko shrugged, as if it was the most obvious request in the world. "I've been giving you words this entire conversation. Before I leave, I want to hear it from your mouth."

Minato stared back flatly. 

"Tell me." A draft of heat flowed over his words, hinting at the embers beneath his calm exterior. "Tell me that you haven't looked at that bed and pictured me there, pictured what I said I did."

Minato, frozen with tension, said nothing. 

"You were awfully mad on Sunday night," Akihiko leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper, "stomping down the stairs to bellow at Fuuka. Something must have set you off."

He stood up, voice ringing out again. " _Tell me_ you don't care to hear my stories. That you're not interested in what I've been thinking about."

The air in Minato's throat felt like glue. 

"Tell me and I'll go."

Minato opened his mouth but nothing came out. He stood there with it hanging open, unable to tear his eyes away from Akihiko's. 

"Or I could stay." His voice had gone softer. "Let me stay, and I'll keep giving you the words you need."

Quieter still: "Maybe explain some things that don't make sense for you." 

Minato's mouth snapped shut. He looked away, at the floor to the side, and when his voice finally came out, even he could barely hear it.

"Okay."

He didn't know what he was walking into — leaping face-first into — but pushing Akihiko away, _resisting this_ , was hard work, and he was tired of being so confused and anxious and _on edge_ all the time. Eventually it was easier to just let yourself go crazy. 

He looked up, heart stuttering in his chest, and said it again, scarcely louder but at least projected forward this time. "Okay." 

An unreadable reaction flashed across Akihiko's face. It was gone in an instant, but Minato still recoiled, shoulders tensing beneath a surge of panic. 

Akihiko responded immediately. "No, no, no, no, no," he soothed, his own eyes wide. "Everything's fine. Just relax. 

"Here," he pushed the desk chair closer, from where it had rolled into the room during Minato's stretch. "Why don't you sit down for a minute."

Feeling a little light-headed, Minato sank into the chair. 

"And take off your tie, you need some air."

Akihiko was keeping his distance, not hovering, which helped. And his advice was good, so Minato went with it. He did feel better without his collar clasped so tightly at his throat. 

"Good," said Akihiko. "Good... Just look at me, and breathe."

Minato looked up. Akihiko's expression was...a mix of everything. Exultant, and reassuring, but mostly it was his normal smile. Which was always a nice smile, but this time it wasn't distant or impersonal or distracted, not any of the usual ways Minato might see it. 

No, this smile was sincere and comforting and aimed directly at him. He felt a strange twinge inside, like someone was digging around in his chest, and somehow he wasn't stopping them.

"Minato." Akihiko's voice was calm and implacable. "I want you to take off your jacket."

Minato paused a second, before shrugging out of it. It was a good idea, he was still overheated from getting so worked up.

Akihiko nodded, looking at Minato as his fingers began undoing the buttons on his vest.

His...vest. Holy crap, Akihiko was taking off his vest. 

He tossed it backwards into the bed, Minato's eyes tracking the entire arc in shock. 

He looked so strange without the red, almost unfamiliar. It was unsettling, like a monochrome filter had been slotted over one little portion of reality, casting a singular character into shades of black, white, ivory, gray.

Minato's confused eyes wandered back up to Akihiko's. 

"Now the shoes," the other boy prompted firmly. 

Minato's gaze flicked downward, to where the tips of his boots were just visible without leaning forward. What was that going to do? Bare feet wouldn't help him calm down... 

His heart thudded to a stop. He slowly looked back up at Akihiko, who was wearing the slightest smirk. Oh. _Oh_...

His entire circulatory system blazed with heat, every possible capillary tinging his skin pink. 

So this is what they were doing. It was a...thing, now, and he had to decide whether he was in or not.

His mind came to a screaming stop in the face of that choice. His eyes clenched shut as if he could decide by abstaining, will himself out of his body in order to experience this without having to say 'yes.'

The silence in the room grew deafening. 

Cheeks still burning, Minato bent forward and unclasped a buckle. He pulled each boot off and dropped it to the side with a thunk, before nervously looking up again. 

Akihiko's returning smile was warm, with support but also with heat. He toed out of his loafers, losing an inch of height in the process. 

He took a cautious step forward, stocking feet quiet against the floorboards. Minato's fingers clasped onto the chair seat beneath him.

"This isn't a power differential," Akihiko said quietly. "It's not a fight. It's just you," his voice slowed further, "letting go...of the stress." 

He started moving forward again. His words fell into sing-song, a slow rocking cadence with each footfall, like Minato was being hypnotized. "You're not thinking. You're just breathing. You're just doing what I tell you to do." 

Minato finished his inhale, eyelids sliding open at the end of the line to Akihiko standing in front of him. 

"Good," breathed Akihiko. His hand drifted forward, thumb brushing across Minato's cheek, fingers lifting his bangs out of the way. Minato exhaled, leaning forward so his forehead pressed against Akihiko's palm. 

"You don't have to be alone in this," Akihiko murmured. 

"You don't have to keep carrying everything. It's okay to let go."

The hand was cool and soothing against his face.

"I think you need to let go."

Fingers carded through Minato's bangs and a peaceful sigh broke out of him in response. He pushed off slowly, nose trailing over Akihiko's palm, eyes peeling open as he sat up. 

Akihiko's voice dropped lower. "...I can help you let go."

Minato gave a faint laugh. "You're trying to be all... _motivational_ , but that sounded really suggestive."

Akihiko's knuckle brushed his cheek again. "It was supposed to." 

His voice was so quiet and gentle, it took Minato a second to parse that statement, and by then Akihiko was talking again. 

"I think it would be good for you, if you could just stop fighting it."

"It?" Minato echoed faintly. 

Akihiko leaned closer, one palm flat on the desktop next to them. "Minato." His lips were mesmerizing this close. "Unbutton your shirt."

Minato blinked, eyes wide, but his fingers had already started to move, drifting towards one cuff.

He popped open the buttons on both wrists and paused. 

"And the rest," Akihiko chided softly. 

Minato's eyes fluttered downward, staring at the lowest button he could see. He pulled in a breath, feeling oxygen-starved, and reached to untuck his shirttails. 

Akihiko murmured in approval. 

His fingers clumsily threaded the bottom button back through the fabric and proceeded upward. He blushed as the fabric gapped open, exposing skin to the cool dorm air. 

"Now," came the next prompt, " _mine_."

Minato's head popped up. Akihiko's stomach was at eye level, chest thrust out to present its own set of buttons.

Minato watched his hands float forward as if they belonged to someone else. Someone who was ready for this — to obey, to touch _a guy_ , his senpai, the famous Akihiko Sanada, the person who'd blown into his life like thunder and lightning on a clear winter's night. 

Those foreign hands settled lightly on Akihiko's waist, felt the trim muscles shift beneath the fabric, before grabbing two handfuls of cloth and lifting it free. They shifted to the bottom of the placket, easing one, two, three buttons loose before Minato was forced to rise to his feet to continue the task, standing mere inches from the warm chest he was slowly unveiling. 

His head tipped up at the end, that extra angle to look Akihiko in the face — but before his eyes got there, he found himself locked in a kiss, a pair of firm, plush lips moving against his own. He gasped into it, hands clenching onto the shirtfront he still held. 

Akihiko gave a pant as they separated, a faint breath that stirred Minato's hair, made his chest rise and fall beneath Minato's forearms.

Minato settled back onto his heels, introducing a bit of space between them. He began pulling his arms back and tried to catch his breath. 

Akihiko caught his arms as they retracted, seizing both of Minato's wrists. He maneuvered through the curtain of fabric and placed both palms flat against his abdomen.

Minato's nerve endings went into overdrive. Akihiko's skin was smooth and taut and _warm_ , unimaginably warm. He could barely catalog all the ways it felt, the _sheet_ of muscle sliding beneath the skin, the way it fluttered slightly with each breath.

"Minato?"

"Uh huh?" he squeaked. 

"Move," Akihiko whispered. 

His elbows jumped at the suggestion, sending his hands skittering up Akihiko's sides on accident. Good thing the boxer didn't appear to be ticklish, or that move could have gotten him walloped.

"Just relax, everything's fine."

Minato laughed faintly, disbelieving. He avoided eye contact, in embarrassment, but got his hands under control. They skimmed gently and smoothly back down, to linger in the safe territory of Akihiko's stomach.

He felt it jitter as Akihiko laughed. "There's nothing else you want to touch?" 

Minato ducked his head, but was saved from having to answer, when Akihiko grabbed his hands and shifted them northward. 

He took the hint and kept going, gliding under and around and across the pectorals, feeling how the curve fit into his hand. He slid outward, tracing the muscle around to Akihiko's sides, hands smoothing downward in a caressing rather than tickling motion. 

He reached the belt and circled immediately back up, fingertips brushing over diaphragm, then nipples, rewarded with an inhale of surprise, and up onto the collarbones, stroking somewhat unsuccessfully across the still-covered shoulders. 

"You," Akihiko's voice was reedy for a second, until he cleared his throat and it fell back into that deep, encouraging register. "You should get rid of the shirt." 

For a moment, Minato thought of his own shirt, before remembering where his hands were buried. He nodded at the suggestion and reached for a cuff, holding it for Akihiko to slide his hand through. 

He then slipped behind the taller boy, grabbing the shirt by the yoke, sliding off the right shoulder then the left. He tossed it onto the bedpost and turned back to stare at the bare back now before him. 

He felt free to gape now that he wasn't being watched. No one looked like this in reality, no one in high school. Akihiko wasn't musclebound — beneath his clothing, he was surprisingly spare — but Minato could sense the strength and stamina standing before him, even at rest. He reached forward to run a hand across those shoulder blades, feel the power and tension stored up there. A faint shudder ran through Akihiko, and Minato felt the prickle of goosebumps under his hand as it drifted out onto the arm. 

He'd seen Akihiko break a shadow's neck with a critical shot, and now _that_ was trembling for _him_. Minato's head spun.

His other hand rushed to join in, to seize this freedom before it could get taken away. Both hands ranged free, half exploration, half massage — fingers touching and tracing the endless array of taut muscles, palms pressing and stretching into them, as a release valve for Minato's sudden surge of fierceness. 

His thumbs were following a mirrored pair of tense muscles down the length of Akihiko's back — he didn't know why, it had just spoken to him — but Akihiko wasn't complaining. Instead, he was panting slightly and arching his back onto the massage. As Minato's thumbs ground to a stop at Akihiko's waistband, a noise on the verge between gasp and whimper escaped the other boy — and something shattered within Minato. 

"Take your belt off," he said breathlessly, throat so dry the words barely made it out. 

"Huh?" Akihiko squinted over his shoulder. Either he hadn't heard, or was so confused to suddenly be receiving the demands, that he didn't know how to react.

"Belt off!" Minato repeated with urgency.

The gray head nodded, hands moving to flick the buckle open. Minato didn't let him finish the task, instead seizing him by the back of his pants and spinning them towards the bed. He pushed Akihiko forward until he was kneeling, knees on the edge of the bed.

The waistband was still in his way. "Open your fly!" he commanded insistently. Akihiko fumbled to comply from his awkward position, falling forward on his hands as he finished. 

Minato swooped in, pulling waistband, belt, and elastic out of the way, baring Akihiko's lower back down to the tailbone. He immediately resumed his previous activity. He started at mid-back with the base of his thumbs, a similar pressured stroke to the last one, keying in to the right muscle as he went — but this time he could finish it. He rolled onto the ball of his thumbs as he arrived there, the spot that had been blocked before. It felt weird and squishy, even compared to the previous muscles that had asked him to rub them, so he stayed, rotating his thumbs and digging into twin spots on the back of Akihiko's pelvis. He could feel tendons shifting minutely under his thumbs, and capillaries pumping blood in response to the pressure. 

Akihiko moaned, outright moaned, and pressed back into his hands. His shoulders shifted as his spine curved and his ass stretched closer to Minato. 

Minato glanced downward, world spinning dizzily behind his eyes as he gazed at the ass thrust back towards him. Only a quarter exposed, the black fabric still clung to it, pockets out of position and distended. The fabric that had been taunting him for two weeks. He pulled back on the pressure he was applying, circling his fingers lightly over the reddening spot. This hadn't been his intention, but since the opportunity had, _presented_ itself...

He screwed up his courage and on the next breath his hands slid lower, over the leather of the loosened belt and down to those beckoning cheeks. He groped quickly and furtively, trying to be subtle, just enough to satisfy his fixation then get back to the massage.

Akihiko gave a breathy chuckle. Minato's head popped up guiltily, to find the other boy watching back over his shoulder, no longer in a daze because _Minato_ was no longer pressing on his knot. Idiot. What had he expected to happen?

"Would feel even better from the inside," his observer commented.

Minato's cheeks flamed bright red and he yanked his hands back entirely.

Akihiko sighed ruefully, cheek collapsing onto his shoulder. "You're very confusing at times, you know that?"

Minato shook his head, sticking his hands behind his back so they couldn't get him in trouble again.

"Hey, it's _okay_. You don't need to pull away. I was the one going all shameless over your massage." Akihiko's reassuring tone gained a topping of wheedling. "That felt really good. Can we go back to that?"

Minato looked downward. "...If you stop watching."

"I can do that." Akihiko faced forward again, waggling his lower back in Minato's direction, an absurd gesture that made his pants flop about.

Minato swallowed a giggle, but his insatiable hands were already reaching forward.

Akihiko gave a sigh of satisfaction as they stroked down his back again, zeroing in on the patch above his tailbone. For Minato, there was something elemental and relaxing about working on the knot. Already the skin there was feeling more normal, simply tense instead of weird and trembly. As it got looser, he could work over the whole area rather than drilling into one spot, and pay more attention to the sounds and sighs that came out of Akihiko, the way his spine seemed to actually be lengthening under Minato's fingers, the way his hips shoved backwards in rhythmic counterpart to Minato's kneading.

It was intoxicating, and when Akihiko suggested in a gravelly voice that he "Go lower," he just kept going. The frontier of tension had shifted anyway, under the tailbone instead of on top, curving around to meet the hips. His fingertips were simply following along, tracing the ley-lines of muscle, pushing back the heathered boxers whenever they got in the way. He followed it out towards the hip bones, then lower still, finding a treasure trove of tension in the muscle where ass met thigh. By the time he came to, he had eight fingers across Akihiko's bare ass, thumbs lifting up the muscle from underneath, with the other boy pressed almost flat onto the bed, pants at mid-thigh, well past moaning and nearly into drooling on himself.

Minato finished the pass he was on, and sat back on his heels, trying to catch his breath. He didn't let go, though — now that his eyes were working again, he couldn't get over exactly how good Akihiko's ass looked in his hands. Let alone how it felt, all rejuvenated and tingling from the massage.

"Daaamn," groaned Akihiko, trying to lift from his collapsed position up onto hands and knees again. The motion thrust his ass firmly into Minato's cupped hands, sending balls brushing against his fingertips and blood surging into his face.

"I had no idea you took muscle aches this seriously. Remind me to visit next time I have a match."

"I-I, don't know what came over me," Minato said quietly, speaking to the ass in his hands.

He _felt_ Akihiko go alert again, wake up from his blissed-out state. He glanced back once at Minato, but otherwise kept facing forward. 

"You wanted to make me feel good," he declared, voice carefully pitched. "That's all. Nothing wrong with that."

He dropped a bit softer. "It feels good to make someone else feel good, doesn't it?"

Minato closed his eyes, hefted the flesh still in his hands, muscles gone slack with relaxation. 

"Uh huh," he agreed.

"That's all I want out of this," Akihiko continued, insistently. Minato could tell he'd turned around again by the increase in clarity. He peeked one eye open, and proved himself right. Big gray eyes stared back over Akihiko's bare shoulder. "I just want to make you feel good, on either end of that equation.

"Convince you to listen to what you actually want."

Minato paused in thought, staring at Akihiko's shoulder blade to avoid his gaze. Finally he lifted his eyes, crinkled with incredulity. "You're being pushy so I'll listen to _myself_?"

"Yes," the older boy replied, with great sincerity.

"That's practically a contradiction in terms!" protested Minato. "You can't force me into doing what _I_ want."

Akihiko's eyes flared. "I can't?" His head gestured downward, to where Minato's hands still hadn't relinquished their grasp.

Minato finally let go, and pulled his hands back. Akihiko shrugged and turned over, an obscenely graceful motion given his pants were at his knees and his boxers at his thighs.

Minato stared hard at the wall past his shoulder, for lack of anywhere safer to place his eyes. 

"Minato." Akihiko's voice was steady. "I think you should help me with this clothing."

"And why should I do that?"

A beat passed, enough for Minato to regret his instinctive snotty comeback.

"Because I know what you want better than you do."

His eyes hopscotched uncontrollably back to Akihiko's. Akihiko looked about...10% smug, but the rest of him seemed to see it as honest truth. 

And regrettably, the little voice in the back of Minato's mind agreed with him. 

His eyes flicked to the leg of Akihiko's pants, a river of black trailing loosely between them on the comforter. 

"Okay, then." He nodded, mostly to himself. He cleared his throat and lifted his head. "Prove it.

"Tell me what to do." 

Akihiko's eyes lit up, like a leap year child about to celebrate four birthdays at once, but he held it together. 

"I'm pretty trapped in these pants," he remarked, offhand. 

Minato's eyes traveled up Akihiko's shin, resolutely stopping at the stripe of bare skin above the knee, not going any higher. His hand reached forward magnetically, drawn to touching it — but he stopped halfway there, unsure whether to act on his inclinations, whether it would spoil the experiment.

He looked up at Akihiko, hand hanging in the air between them.

Akihiko's eyes glowed, like a panther in the shadows. "Keep going," he purred.

Minato swallowed, trying to keep his hand from quavering, and started moving forward again. He traced his thumb along the edge, the last skin exposed before the fold of peeled-back fabric. 

He kept staring, transfixed by the contrast between darkest black and palest ivory, smooth sateen and smoother skin, his finger tracing the seam between them. "What should I do?" he whispered.

Akihiko seized his hand and thrust his fingers underneath the fabric. It was a tight fit, the pants slim-cut, the cloth bent double. Minato's fingers were cradling his kneecap, so snug he felt they might leave a permanent brand. 

He was no longer sure he objected to that concept.

Akihiko leaned back on his hands, eyebrows raised. Right, the point here was _not_ hanging out until his fingers lost circulation. The point was to free Akihiko from his pants. And try to stop losing himself to panic, at the implications of thoughts like that.

Akihiko cleared his throat. "This only works if you listen..."

Minato started guiltily. "Right," he muttered. He tugged lightly on the empty part of the pant leg and, using his trapped hand, was able to guide the vise of fabric past Akihiko's knee. Ten more seconds and a stroke down muscled calves, and Akihiko was suddenly 95% unclothed.

Minato sat back, dropping the garment off to the side. Akihiko stretched his legs conspicuously. "Thank you," he said — and smirked when Minato had to look away. Trying not to wonder how far he'd pulled down those boxers, whether anything _else_ had been revealed, refusing to let himself glance down and check.

"Now..." Akihiko's voice had dropped a shade deeper, and Minato fought against letting his eyes drift shut in response. "Let's get rid of your pants."

He nodded, eyes still heavy, head full of molasses. He could feel it seeping through his brain, muddling everything further. He still felt anxious but it was dampened somehow, insulated by that rich voice, by the option to just listen and stop worrying so damn much. 

He stood up slowly, distantly wondering whether it was safer to face towards or away from Akihiko as he did this. He glanced up as he began to slide open his belt buckle.

Akihiko was doing a decent job of controlling his expression...except for his eyes. They raked hungrily down Minato, lingering on his partially exposed chest, drilling where his hands loitered, still fumbling clumsily with belt and fly. A flash of heat blazed through Minato's body, pooling under Akihiko's unshuttered gaze. 

Right, facing away it was. He spun as he pulled out of his pant leg, using the excuse of grabbing onto the bedpost for balance. He straightened up, letting his pants drop the rest of the way to the floor, and left them there, stepping out of the pile of fabric.

He spared a glance down at himself. Things weren't...well, his situation wasn't _too_ embarrassing, not yet. Which was good, because Akihiko would undoubtedly make him–

"Turn around."

Minato tensed in hesitation. He felt unaccountably nervous exposing himself to Akihiko. It wasn't the first time and he wasn't even naked yet, but it was still _Akihiko_.

The instruction came again: "Turn around." The tone still even, but a touch more insistent.

Minato chewed on his lip instead, still facing out into the room, eyes closed and almost swaying on his feet. 

He heard the bed creak as Akihiko climbed off of it.

"Minato." The voice was much closer now, presenting a statement, not a question. 

Minato could recognize the sound of a window closing, an opportunity on offer but beginning its retreat. He realized he didn't want to stop, to break this fragile circumstance just as it was developing.

He sucked in a breath and spun around.

Before he could even focus, Akihiko had crossed the remaining half-step between them and grabbed his jaw with both hands, kissing him searchingly.

Minato's hands splayed open in surprise, but as the kiss lengthened, they settled down onto Akihiko's waist. 

He was relieved to feel cotton under his fingertips, proof that Akihiko hadn't lost his boxers in the process of standing up.

Akihiko paused, kissing at the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad you turned around," he murmured, "I'd have hated for things to get off on the _wrong foot_."

Minato shivered at the warm breath ghosting across his cheek, and tilted his face up to Akihiko. "Sorry..." he breathed, most of the word getting swallowed up by the next kiss.

Akihiko must have heard though, because he broke off halfway through, his teeth reluctantly releasing their latch on Minato's lower lip and dragging away across the sensitive skin.

He considered Minato at close range, his brow crinkled. "But we're good now?"

Minato forced himself into full eye contact, stomach roiling from the closeness of that intense gaze, and gave a heartfelt nod. Akihiko's eyes narrowed and he pulled Minato closer, a pleased growl at the back of his throat.

Minato's eyes fell shut on a suppressed whimper. He could feel firm heat grinding against his pelvis, an impossible warmth barely shielded by the thin knit of Akihiko's boxers.

He was starting to relax into the embrace, that infectious heat seeping into his body — when a loud bang resounded down the hallway behind them, and he jumped in sudden realization.

"Ignore it." Akihiko's lips descended again. "Door slamming or something," he muttered during breaks for air, clasping Minato's shoulders tighter.

"Wait," Minato's hands pushed futilely against his chest. "Wait, listen to me." He tilted his head to the side, moving his mouth out of range of Akihiko's. 

The older boy paused with an irritated expression. " _What?_ " In lieu of kisses, he began nibbling on Minato's exposed jawline.

"Did you," Minato gasped as Akihiko bit down on the underside, "did you...lock the door?"

"No. You almost kicked me out when I got here, why would I have locked the door." Akihiko sounded impatient with the disruption, mouth wandering upward to Minato's ear.

"It's just..." Akihiko's tongue flicked and Minato grabbed at his lower back, hips bucking helplessly forward into the matching pair. "It's just, Junpei's...kinda like a puppy." He panted in order to spit out the next line. "He sometimes forgets that knocking comes _before_ opening."

The other boy froze. From his angle, Minato could see only one corner of his face, but the eye was wide and the cheek oddly pale.

"Go," he ordered, stepping back from their entanglement.

Minato turned and flew across the room, flipping the lock with a satisfying finality.

He turned around, breathless from how fast he'd gone — only to lose his breath completely at what was waiting for him. 

That glowering figure, flushed and nearly nude, remaining clothing incapable of hiding his arousal.

It beckoned him, once, but he was too caught up to obey at first.

"Minato," it said disapprovingly. "Come _here_."

Minato jumped and skittered back across the room, stopping in front of Akihiko with fingers clasping nervously in his open shirt cuffs.

Akihiko reached forward and lifted his chin, running the tip of his thumb across Minato's lower lip. Minato flinched, tongue flicking out to wipe away the ticklish sensation. 

Beneath the high flush, despite the blood thrumming obviously through his veins, Akihiko's eyes were strangely serious. "Today isn't just about getting off," he said gruffly. "I'm trying to make a point. 

"And maybe put you in a position where you won't have to be so shy."

It seemed to warrant a response. "Okay?" ventured Minato.

Akihiko gave him one last look, before turning around, once more displaying that glorious back. "You seem to do better when I'm facing away," he noted, "so we'll do it like this."

He flicked a glance back over his shoulder. "Take off my underwear," he commanded.

Minato's breath caught. He was grateful for the privacy, but that wasn't an easy thing to do from behind — he'd have to move carefully to avoid snagging the elastic on...anything.

He stepped forward, hands running along the elastic waistband from the back to the sides, and with a deep breath, around to the front and down.

The air in the room was suddenly viscous, too heavy and thick to breathe. He'd never touched anyone else's junk before...

It felt warm, and _alive_. It twitched under his hand, and Minato felt his own dick responding in kind.

He tried to ignore the buzzing in his head, wrapping both arms around Akihiko's waist and patting gently to figure out where things were situated. It felt so weird: hugging Akihiko from behind, groping him in an effort to extract his erection without injury. The strange positions his life put him in... 

He gulped in some air, and slid his hand beneath the fabric. Without an additional layer between them, Akihiko's flesh was burningly hot. It must be so very red, he thought. He lost his focus for a moment at that, imagining the sight — Akihiko's erection straining at the knit fabric, still curled but slowly lengthening, his own hand gliding up and down the shaft, seeking the best protective position. The contrast between the pale skin of Akihiko's torso and that delicious redness as he pulled it out...

Minato collapsed his forehead against Akihiko's shoulder blade and did as he imagined, hand cupping under the shaft and over the head to prevent dragging, pulling the fabric over and down, gently tucking it beneath the balls. He quickly moved to tug down the rest of the garment, avoiding the temptation to grope Akihiko's ass for once. 

The scrap of cloth sank with a whisper to the floor. 

Akihiko nodded, stepping forward out of them — but then he kept on moving, climbing onto the bed on all fours. With him still facing away, Minato could simultaneously see everything and almost nothing at all. 

"You're welcome to join me," Akihiko tossed over his shoulder with arrogant casualness, "...but only without clothing." 

Minato's loosened shirt hit the floor a moment later, followed rapidly by his boxers, tossed over his own shoulder somewhere into the room. His palm still felt marked, burned, from where he'd touched Akihiko, and he was itching to do it again — maybe sear the imprint permanently.

With his head, Akihiko gestured back towards his feet. "On the bed."

Minato placed a knee on the mattress, and was immediately tsked at. "No," Akihiko said pointedly. "Back _there_."

Minato paused. On the bed, behind him? He wouldn't normally need encouragement to get in closer proximity with Akihiko's ass, but... His cheeks flushed at the suggestive position. That would be, progressing awfully fast. They weren't _really_ gonna...?

" _On the bed_ ," repeated Akihiko, a note of impatience in his voice. A warning of what would happen if he actually lost his patience.

Minato slid in cautiously, knees crouching on the bedspread between Akihiko's spread feet. The mattress dipped unevenly beneath them as he inched forward. 

He almost flinched when their bare calves brushed together. It made him lose his balance on the shifting springs, tipping forward and landing with hands splayed on Akihiko's back. Akihiko murmured something unknowable in response, and swayed his hips back and forth.

Minato froze where he'd toppled, fingers curling against Akihiko's ribcage. Akihiko waggled again in encouragement. His entire back end waved beneath Minato's diaphragm. 

"Closer," he urged. 

Minato inhaled carefully as he pushed himself upright again. His knees crept forward, legs slotting between Akihiko's, the space separating their bodies growing dangerously small...

He hesitated, afraid to make contact. Akihiko glanced back, matter of factly grabbing Minato's wrist and yanking him forward. 

Minato stumbled across the last several inches. He landed against Akihiko's backside, air knocked slightly out of him, one arm curled awkwardly around the front — and as usual, Akihiko gave him little chance to recover.

By the time he registered that _his dick_ was now _nestled against Akihiko's ass_ , Akihiko had pulled him farther still. His arm was stretched snug over Akihiko's hip and his hand was — oh.

_Their_ hands.

Their hands were entwined, fingers interwoven, clasped around Akihiko's erection. It was throbbing so intently Minato could have counted his pulse. 

Beneath him, Akihiko's hips began winding up, circling up and back into Minato's pelvis, pressing them tighter together. Minato had just a moment to white out over _ass_ before Akihiko was cycling again, hips gliding forward as if on a conveyor. His length slid slowly through their combined grip, Akihiko's fingers pressed tightly over Minato's, trapping his hand between hot skin and hotter skin. 

Minato was drowning in sensation. He was glad to see Akihiko managing for the both of them, as otherwise he'd be glazed over and practically immobile. 

The thrust reached its zenith and Akihiko began to pull backwards, forming a ring with their fingers as he retracted. Minato's skin caught at him lightly, not quite wet enough, but Akihiko's inexorable pace never faltered.

His hips shifted back again, spine elongating...ending where he'd started but better, ass hitching upward and pressing rhythmically into Minato. 

Minato struggled to stifle a moan, keep his own hips still and not rut shamefully at what was being offered. He had no prior asses to compare to, but he felt this had to be starting with the best one on the planet.

He felt the hint of cockiness begin to develop in Akihiko's motions — in the shift of the body beneath his, through the fingers of his left hand, death-gripped onto Akihiko's hip. In how Akihiko went slightly showy on the next thrust, plunging into their mutual fist straight down to the root, then slowly drawing out again. 

He kept going, chaining the motions together — back at Minato, ass flexing, cheeks cradling his cock — forward into their tight grip, then shifting back again — slowly accelerating until he was pumping back and forth, landing with a soft grunt on each thrust. 

Minato clung on for the ride, lost in the quiet sounds Akihiko was making and the slide of their skin...so very much skin to pay attention to. The increasingly slick skin sliding under his fingertips, Akihiko's powerful flexing thighs, his own erection bumping at the small of Akihiko's back when he arced forward. 

Akihiko finally lost the rhythm, hand breaking free as he fell onto all fours. His head dangled from his shoulders, breath rattling audibly. Minato's first instinct was concern, whether he needed a moment to recover — but despite the panting, Akihiko wasn't staying still. His new position gave him the leverage to grind actively against Minato, and he clearly intended to use it.

Akihiko might have sounded ragged, but his hips pushed with such force that Minato had to provide counterpoint, or else get knocked over. His fingers dug into Akihiko's hipbone, teeth sunk in his own lip as he rammed forward in response. The two were barely balancing one another in their invisible shoving match.

Well, not entirely invisible — through eyes half-lidded over how good it felt, Minato could see the muscles in Akihiko's back and arms ripple.

In their grappling, Akihiko's head arched backwards, and Minato was struck by a powerful urge, to curl fingers in those nonexistent locks and yank it back further. He groaned as his hips stuttered forward on that thought, the surge driving Akihiko into supporting his own weight, then further still onto his palms, tilted forward at a crazy angle.

Minato settled back towards his heels with a small gasp of shock, startled by his own unfettered reaction. To his surprise, rather than fighting, Akihiko's body followed agreeably along, as if tethered. 

He squinted and gave an experimental little shove, bouncing at Akihiko's tailbone as it arrived against him — watching the lithe body glide forward again and return back to center.

Minato swallowed hard. He did it a third time, riding Akihiko forward onto his palms, letting him fall back. He was feeling a bit high on the willingness in Akihiko's body, the power he seemed to be holding.

On the next push, Akihiko cocked his hip as he went, just enough of an angle that his dick brushed against Minato's right hand. The motion was clearly deliberate, a reminder that it wasn't participating. 

Well _that_ was easily remedied. His hand latched on quickly — mentally _and_ physically — awakening from its ass-inspired stupor far faster than the rest of him had. He flexed his fingers and curled them, ostentatiously, one by one into position around the firm shaft. Beneath him, Akihiko took a shuddering breath. 

Minato quirked a grin — there was more than one person with hand strength around here. And Minato had more battle experience than anyone, with all sorts of weapons. He could surely wield this one effectively.

He got into stance, arm molded low on Akihiko's pelvis, knees forcing the other's farther apart. He closed his eyes and gave one slow, exploratory stoke, long and lingering, palm sliding away over the tip. It felt like a living thing under his fingertips — spongy, and pulsing, and _greedy_. His head spun, thinking of ways he could satisfy that greed.

He forced himself to start slowly. Up, then down...pace steady, drinking in the weight and heat against his palm. His grip was firm, tighter than he usually preferred, but Akihiko seemed to like it that way. The older boy shifted beneath him. He was fighting against the urge to arch his back, trying to not move his dick out of Minato's reach.

Minato smirked and pulled Akihiko's hips snugly back against his own, cutting off his ability to squirm. Akihiko inhaled in surprise, but easily redirected himself to grinding at Minato's erection. 

God, it was a rush, seeing him like this — his indomitable senpai, on all fours, pliant and flushed and panting. The way his head tossed, the faint moans every time Minato sped up a notch, patiently waiting for whatever he determined happened next. 

Except there wasn't much choice in it anymore. Minato was losing grip on his restraint, his left hand clamped down to the bone on Akihiko's hip, right hand flying by now, as if trying to strip through the skin. Akihiko was getting restless and twitchy beneath him, his cock changing texture under Minato's fingertips — Minato could feel it building, like each stroke of his hand hauled them closer. Hand over hand up the rope, teeth grit with determination, until they were suddenly there: with a strangled groan, Akihiko's entire body quavered, cock gone solid and seizing in Minato's hand.

Minato kept going, caught in perpetual motion, riding the wave and reluctant to ever stop. Akihiko was making these beautiful noises, choking on air as if the very act of breathing had become too much for him. Minato's hips were pumping of their own accord, in half time to the rhythm of his hand, still accelerating even as Akihiko's dick finally spent itself — when it hit him, what had just happened, and he snapped under the surge of shock and arousal.

Minato's hips pistoned against Akihiko's ass crack, rutting frantically, and Akihiko had to shift quickly to maintain his balance. He angled back into it, forearms down on the bed and elbows locked, tailbone arched just so — and Minato was gone. His euphoric gasp of "oh, oh, oh, oh" echoed into the near-silence of the room as he shot over Akihiko's lower back.

As his limbs began to collapse beneath him, Minato tumbled bonelessly to the side, landing on his back staring at the ceiling. He could see the heaving of his chest, out of the corner of his eye, as he gulped at the air. He tilted his head back and focused on breathing, the cool fresh air flowing through his throat, reoxygenating his brain. 

Akihiko had fallen all the way onto his stomach. He was slumped out over his forearms, looking winded and contorted, but entirely content. 

For a minute no one spoke or even moved, their slowing pants the only sound. 

Minato was experiencing a strange moment of dual consciousness. His heart was still thudding ecstatically, his dick throbbing with aftershocks and starting to feel chafed, but underneath that, an uneasy tendril of regret was unfurling in his stomach. His id, finally satiated, had relinquished control and now his mind was waking up to survey the damage. 

Akihiko's head stirred. "Told'ya I knew what you'd like," he slurred. His voice was low but warm, only slightly goading.

"Not that you needed much suggestion." He huffed a laugh and pushed up onto his elbows. 

Minato tried to glance over at him, but it was too much, too soon. His eyes skittered away from the long, lean line of pale flesh and his head flopped back onto the bed in defeat. 

So he'd given in — to himself, to whatever this thing was between them — but he didn't feel any better for it. He felt stupid, and _weak_ , and disappointed in himself. No short-lived orgasm would wipe out the regret, that he couldn't resist the weird siren call of Akihiko, kick him out when he so clearly deserved it. 

Looking at the other boy made a dull ache flare in his temples, so he stared upward instead, eyes boring into the overhead light until his pupils narrowed to nothingness and his vision nearly shut down entirely. 

But it wasn't enough. He could still feel Akihiko looking at him. He wondered what the most expedient way was to make him leave. 

Next to him, Akihiko shifted, and the bedsprings squeaked. "Minato?" he asked, cautious but still hopeful.

Minato closed his eyes. 

"Minato..." The second time wasn't a question. It was a plea, a demand, the edge of frustration almost slicing through Akihiko's careful restraint. 

The sound of no reply was deafening. 

Akihiko started babbling in sad disbelief. "But it was _good_ ," he said, forlorn. "You agreed the whole way, you had control...

"What more do you need, to believe?"

Minato's eyes opened and the words flew out before he even recognized them. "What makes you think you have something I need?"

Akihiko had been starting to say something else, but the word choked off into an incoherent noise.

Minato waited out his shock. It was weird doing this lying down, arguing with them both flopped out on the bed, naked and sticky — but while the question had surprised him too, he really did want an answer.

Ever the sincere one, Akihiko took the question at face value and was attempting to answer. "Your behavior–, I mean, the last several..." His sputtering trailed off. " _Everything_ ," he said with incredulous finality.

Minato pulled himself upright. "Have you considered the possibility that you're wrong?" he asked calmly.

"Of course," Akihiko replied, low and defensive. "This isn't something I'd just _do_. I considered all the angles, very carefully, before I–"

Minato interrupted. "So you're 100% confident in your conclusion."

Akihiko rolled onto his side, leaning back to get a sightline on Minato's face. "Perhaps I'd reconsider," his eyes glared like fiery coals, "if you hadn't just come on my ass." 

Minato flushed primly, but didn't let it stop him. "That's exactly the point." He looked down at his knees. "I don't want to put myself in the position to keep saying yes, even when I maybe shouldn't."

Akihiko blanched. "Are you saying you didn't want to...?"

Minato looked up sharply. " _No._ I stand behind what I did, you didn't force me into anything."

He looked away again. "Just, maybe my control isn't what it needs to be."

Akihiko shook his head in confusion. "I think you're making this far more complicated than it has to be..."

Minato started talking as if he hadn't heard him. "You keep saying you know what I actually want. But it doesn't matter what I want. I know what I have to do, and if you're my friend, you'll respect that."

"Respect it _how_?"

Minato forced himself to hold his head up. "Leave it alone. Stop trying to make this something more." He swallowed against a sudden pain in his throat. "Leave _me_ alone."

He rambled on before the other boy could get a chance to speak. "I know today was...my fault. I cracked and pushed back at you in Tartarus, then I let you stay here, and kept agreeing to what was happening. But I'm not letting it happen again."

Akihiko sat up and peered at him earnestly. "Minato, I don't understand why you're doing this. We can work this out, things don't have to be as black and white–"

"STOP." 

The other boy froze the mid-sentence. Minato grimaced and clenched fists to his temples. "I need your support in this," he forced out. "I need you to agree, that we will be teammates and nothing more." 

He peeled his eyes open. "And I need you to go."

Akihiko nearly flinched. "You don't have to push me away," he began urgently. "Give me a chance to explain, this doesn't have to be what you think it is. You might not see it right now, but–"

"Akihiko." Minato's voice was faint but heavy. "Don't take this personally. It isn't your fault." 

He exhaled slowly. "But I still need you to leave."

Akihiko looked away, down at the bedspread, fighting to contain the emotions warring across his face. Duty, concern, obstinacy, defeat.

He stood up, fists clenched at his sides, and gathered his clothing in silence. He put each piece back on in the proper order, in complete disregard for his unwashed body.

By the time he raised eyes to Minato's, his general expression was under control, but his eyes were wide and reproachful, unable to disguise the hurt. 

He shoved into his loafers with a jerk, emotions betrayed even as he completed the transformation back to his normal self. Despite the anger in his gesture, as he stood staring towards the windows, Akihiko seemed regretful more than anything else. 

"You know where I'll be, if you need me. For _anything_." His words were fiercely ardent, all the more piercing without eye contact.

Minato nodded and watched him exit the room, latch clicking quietly behind him.

The moment he was alone, he collapsed onto the bedspread. It was disgusting and smelled of Akihiko and he couldn't bring himself to deal with either problem. He curled up on his side, eyes dry but painful, and waited for sleep to take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My proofreader's immortal plea to Minato: "Be nice to Akihiko. He's a nice boy who just wants to hump you!" She's pretty bummed for Akihiko right now.
> 
> As always, this story is never discontinued. However long between posts, I'll always be back. Comments = love and speed up the writing process!


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